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HELBECK   OF   BANNISDALE 

VOLUME   II. 


.^^M^ 


IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 


BY 

MRS.    HUMPHRY   WARD 


^CpC    f 


.  .  .  metus  ille  .  .  .  Acheruntis  .  .  . 
Funditus  humanam  qui  vitaai  lurbat  ab  imo 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 
VOL.    II. 


Neb]  Hork 
THE    MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON;  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 

1899 


All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1898, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped  May,  1898.     Reprinted  June,  August,  twice, 
September,  October,  November,  December,  i8y8;   Marcb,  1899. 


NDlb300tl  ?PVC33 

J.  S.  Cushiiii;  &  Co.  -  BiTwk^k  S;  Smith 

Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


r^ 

^^\^ 

1      -32,     /. 

• 

.    V.  Z. 

CONTENTS 

BOOK    ITT  (continued)           .... 

PAGE 

3 

BOOK   IV       

.       07 

BOOK   V        

.     107 

BOOK  III 

Continued 


HELBECK    OF   BANNISDALE 


CHAPTER  II 

"  Look  out  there !  For  God's  sake,  go  to  your 
places ! " 

The  cry  of  the  foreman  reached  the  ears  of  the 
clinging  women.  They  fell  apart  —  each  peering  into 
the  crowd  and  the  tumult. 

Mounted  on  a  block  of  wood  about  a  dozen  yards 
from  them  —  waving  his  arm  and  shouting  to  the 
stream  of  panic-stricken  workmen  —  they  saw  the 
man  who  had  been  their  guide  through  the  works. 
Four  white-hot  ingots,  just  uncovered,  blazed  deserted 
on  their  truck  close  to  him,  and  a  multitude  of  men 
and  boys  were  pushing  past  them,  tumbling  over  each 
other  in  their  eagerness  to  reach  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  furnace.  The  space  between  the  ingots  and 
some  machinery  near  them  was  perilously  narrow. 
At  any  moment,  those  rushing  past  might  have  been 
pushed  against  the  death-bearing  truck.  Ah  !  another 
cry.  A  man's  coat-sleeve  has  caught  fire.  He  is 
pulled  back  —  another  coat  is  flung  about  him  —  the 

3 


4  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

line  of  white  faces  turns  towards  him  an  instant-— 
wavers  —  then  the  crowd  flows  on  as  before. 

Another  man  in  autliority  conies  iip  also  shouting. 
The  man  on  the  block  dismounts,  and  the  two  hold 
j:apid  colloquy.  '^  Have  they  sent  for  Mr.  Martin  ?  " 
"  Aye."  "  Where's  Mr.  Barlow  ?  "  "  He's  no  good  !  " 
"  Have  they  stopped  the  mills  ?  "  "  Aye  —  there's 
not  a  man'll  touch  a  thing  —  you'd  think  they'd  gone 
clean  out  of  their  minds.  There'll  be  accidents  all 
over  the  place  if  somebody  can't  quiet  'em." 

Suddenly  the  buzzing  groups  behind  the  fore- 
man parted,  and  a  young  broad-shouldered  work- 
man, grimed  from  head  to  foot,  his  blue  eyes  rolling 
in  his  black  face,  came  staggering  through. 

"  Gie  ma  a  drink,"  he  said,  clutching  at  the  old 
woman ;  "  an  let  ma  sit  down  ! " 

He  almost  fell  upon  an  iron  barrow  that  lay  face 
downwards  on  the  path.  Laura,  sitting  crouched  and 
sick  upon  the  ground,  raised  her  head  to  look  at  him. 
Another  man,  evidently  a  comrade,  followed  him,  took 
the  mug  of  cold  tea  from  the  old  woman's  shaking 
hand,  lifted  his  head  and  helped  him  drink  it. 

"Blast  yer ! — why  ain't  it  spirits?"  said  the 
youth,  throwing  himself  back  against  his  companion. 
His  eyes  closed  on  his  smeared  cheeks ;  his  jaw  fell ; 
his  whole  frame  seemed  to  sink  into  collapse ;  those 
gazing  at  him  saw,  as  it  were,  the  dislocation  and 
undoing  of  a  man. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  5 

"Cheer  up,  Ned  —  cheer  up,"  said  the  older  man, 
kneeling  down  behind  him  —  "  you'll  get  over  it,  my 
]joy  —  it  worn't  none  o'  your  fault.  Stand  back  there, 
you  fellows,  and  gie  im  air." 

"■  Oh,  damn  yer !  let  ma  be,"  gasped  the  young 
fellow,  stretching  himself  against  the  other's  sup- 
port, like  one  who  feels  the  whole  inner  being  of 
him  sick  to  death,  and  cannot  be  still  for  an  instant 
under  the  anguish. 

The  woman  with  the  tea  began  to  cry  loudly  and  ask 
questions.     Laura  rose  to  her  feet,  and  touched  her. 

"■  Don't  cry  —  can't  you  get  some  brandy  ?  "  Then 
in  her  turn  she  felt  herself  caught  by  the  arm. 

"  Miss  Fountain  —  Miss  Laura  —  I  can  get  you  out 
of  this  !  —  there's  a  way  out  here  by  the  back." 

Mason's  white  countenance  showed  over  her  shoul- 
der as  she  turned. 

"  Not  yet  —  can't  anyone  find  some  brandy  ?    Ah !  " 

For  their  guide  came  up  at  the  moment  with  a 
bottle  in  his  hand.  It  was  Laura  who  handed  him 
the  mug,  and  it  was  she  who,  stooping  down,  put  the 
spirit  to  the  lips  of  the  fainting  workman.  Her  mind 
seemed  to  float  in  a  mist  of  horror,  but  her  will 
asserted  itself;  she  recovered  her  power  of  action 
sooner  than  the  men  around  her.  They  stared  at  the 
young  lady  for  a  moment;  but  no  more.  The  one 
hideous  fact  that  possessed  them  robbed  all  else  of 
meaniu" 


6  UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

"Did  lie  see  it?"  said  Laura  to  tlio  man's  friend. 
Her  voice  reached  no  car  but  liis.  Vnv  they  were  sur- 
rounded by  two  uproars  —  the  noise  of  the  crowd  of 
workmen,  a  couple  of  thousand  men  aimlessly  surging 
and  shouting  to  each  other,  and  the  distant  thunder  of 
the  furnace. 

"Aye,  Miss.  He  wor  drivin  the  tub,  an  he  saw 
Overton  in  front  —  it  wor  the  wheel  of  his  barrer 
slipped,  an  soomthin  must  ha  took  him  —  if  he'd  ha 
let  goa  straight  theer  ud  l)in  noa  harm  doon  —  bit  he 
mut  ha  tried  to  draw  it  back  —  an  the  barrer  pulled 
him  right  in." 

"  He  didn't  suffer  ?  "  said  Laura  eagerly,  her  face 
close  under  his. 

"Thank  the  Lord,  he  can  ha  known  nowt  aboot  it! 
—  nowt  at  aw.  The  gas  ud  throttle  him.  Miss,  afore 
he  felt  the  lire." 

"Is  there  a  wife?" 

"Noa — he  coom  here  a  widower  three  weeks  sen  — 
there's  a  little  gell " 

"  Aye !  they  be  gone  for  her  an  t'  passon  boath," 
said  another  voice ;  "  what's  passon  to  do  whan  he 
cooms  ?  " 

"Salve  the  masters'  consciences!"  cried  a  third  in 
fury.  "  They'll  burn  us  to  hell  first,  and  then  quieten 
us  with  praying." 

Many   faces   turned   to  the    speaker,  a   thin,  wiry 


HELBECE   OF  BANNISDALE  7 

man,  one   of   the   "  agitators "   of   the   town,   and   a 
dull  groan  went  round. 

"  Make  way  there !  "  cried  an  imperious  voice,  and 
the  crowd  between  them  and  the  entrance  side  of 
the  shed  began  to  part.  A  gentleman  came  through, 
leading  a  clergyman,  who  walked  hurriedly,  with 
eyes  downcast,  holding  his  book  against  his  breast. 

There  was  a  flutter  of  caps  through  the  vast 
shed.  Every  head  stood  bared  and  bent.  On  went 
the  parson  towards  the  little  platform  with  the 
railway.  The  furnace  had  sunk  somewhat  —  its 
roar  was  less  acute  —  Laura  looking  at  it  thought 
of  the  gorged  beast  that  falls  to  rest. 

But  another  parting  of  the  throng  —  one  sob !  — 
the  common  sob  of  hundreds. 

Laura  looked. 

''It's  t'  little  gell,  Ned!  t'  little  gell!"  said  the 
elder  workman  to  the  youth  he  was  supporting. 

And  there  in  the  midst  of  the  blackened  crowd 
of  men  was  a  child,  frightened  and  weeping,  led 
tenderly  forward  by  a  grey-haired  workman,  who 
looked  down  upon  her,  quite  unconscious  of  the 
tears  that  furrowed  his  own  cheeks. 

'•  Oh,  let  me  —  let  me  go  I  "  cried  Laura.  The 
men  about  her  fell  back.  They  made  a  way  for 
her  to  the  child.     The  old  woauin  had  disappeared 


8  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

In  an  instant  Laura,  as  of  right,  took  the  place  of 
hor  sex.  Half  an  hour  before  she  had  been  the 
merest  passing  stranger  in  that  vast  company ;  now 
she  was  part  of  them,  organically  necessary  to  the 
act  passing  in  their  midst.  The  men  yielded  her 
the  child  instinctively,  at  once ;  she  caught  the  little 
one  in  her  sheltering  arm. 

"  Ought  she  to  be  here  ? "  she  asked  sharply  of 
the  grey-haired  man. 

"They're  goin  to  read  the  Burial  Service,  Miss," 
he  said,  as  he  dashed  away  the  mist  from  his  eyes. 
"An  we  thowt  that  the  little  un  would  like  soom 
day  to  think  she'd  been  here.  So  I  found  her  — 
she  wor  in  school." 

The  child  looked  roinid  her  in  terror.  The  plat- 
form in  front  of  the  furnace  had  been  hurriedly 
cleared.  It  was  now  crowded  with  men  —  masters 
and  managers  in  black  coats  mingled  with  work- 
men, to  the  front  the  parson  in  his  white.  He 
turned  to  the  throng  below  and  opened  his  book. 

"7  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life." 

A  great  pulsation  passed  through  the  mob  of 
workmen.  On  all  sides  strong  men  broke  down 
and  wept. 

The  child  stared  at  the  platform,  then  at  these 
faces  round  her  that  were  turned  upon  her. 

"Daddy — where's  Daddy?"  she  said   trembling, 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  9 

her  piteous  eyes  travelling  up  and  down  the  pretty- 
lady  beside  her. 

Laura  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a  truck  and  drew 
the  little  shaking  creature  to  her  breast.  Such  a 
power  of  tenderness  went  out  from  her,  so  soft  was 
the  breast,  so  lulling  the  scent  of  the  roses  pinned 
into  the  lady's  belt,  that  the  child  was  stilled. 
Every  now  and  then,  as  she  looked  at  the  men 
pressing  round  her,  a  passion  of  fear  seemed  to 
run  through  her ;  she  shuddered  and  struggled  in 
Laura's  hold.  Otherwise  she  made  not  a  sound. 
And  the  great  words  swept  on. 

•  ••••• 

How  the  scene  penetrated !  —  leaving  great  stab- 
bing lines  never  to  be  effaced  in  the  quivering 
tissues  of  the  girl's  nature.  Once  before  she  had 
heard  the  English  Burial  Service.  Her  father  — 
groaning  and  fretting  under  the  penalties  of  friend- 
ship—  had  taken  her,  when  she  was  fifteen,  to  the 
funeral  of  an  old  Cambridge  colleague.  She  remem- 
bered still  the  cold  cemetery  chapel,  the  gowned 
mourners,  the  academic  decorum,  or  the  mild  regret 
amid  which  the  function  passed.  Then  her  father's 
sharp  impatience  as  they  walked  home  —  that  reason- 
able men  in  a  reasonable  age  should  be  asked  to 
sit  and  listen  to  Paul's  logic,  and  the  absurdities 
of  Paul's  cosmical  speculations ! 


10  11  EL  BECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

And  now  —  from  what  movements,  what  obscurities 
of  change  witliin  herself,  had  come  this  new  sense, 
lialf  loathing-,  half  attraction,  that  conld  not  withdraw 
itself  from  the  stroke,  from  the  attack  of  this 
Christian  poetry  —  these  cries  of  the  soul,  now  from 
the  Psalms,  now  from  Paul,  now  from  the  unknown 
voices  of  the  Church  ? 

AVas  it  merely  the  setting  that  made  the  difference 

—  the  horror  of  what  had  passed,  the  infinite  relief  to 
eye  and  heart  of  this  sudden  calm  that  had  fallen  on 
the  terror  and  distraction  of  the  workmen  —  the 
strangeness  of  this  vast  shed  for  church,  with  its 
fierce  perpetual  drama  of  assaulting  flame  and  tiying 
shadow,  and  the  gaunt  tangled  forms  of  its  machinery 

—  the  dull  glare  of  that  distant  furnace  that  had 
made  so  little  —  hardly  an  added  throb,  hardly  a 
leaping  flame  !  of  the  living  man  thrown  to  it  half 
an  hour  before,  and  seemed  to  be  still  murmuring  and 
growling  there,  behind  this  great  act  of  human  pity, 
in  a  dying  discontent  ? 

Whence  was  it  —  this  stilling,  pacifying  power  ? 

All  around  her  men  were  sobbing  and  groaning, 
but  as  the  wave  dies  after  the  storm.  They  seemed 
to  feel  themselves  in  some  grasp  that  sustained,  some 
hold  that  made  life  tolerable  again.  "  Amens  "  came 
thick  and  fast.  The  convulsion  of  the  faces  was 
abating;  a  natural  Imiiiau  courage  was  flowing  back 
into  contracted  hearts. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  11 

''  Blessed  are  the  dead  — for  they  rest  from  their 
labours — "  "as  oxir  hope  is  this  our  brother  doth.^' 

Laura  shivered.  The  constant  agony  of  the  worki, 
in  its  constant  search  for  all  that  consoles,  all  that 
eases,  laid  its  compelling  hand  upon  her.  By  a 
natural  instinct  she  wrapped  her  arms  closer,  more 
passionately,  round  the  child  upon  her  knee. 

"  Won't  she  come  ?  "  said  Mason. 

He  and  Seaton  were  standing  in  the  downstairs 
parlour  of  a  small  house  in  a  row  of  work- 
men's cottages,  about  half  a  mile  from  the  steel 
works. 

Mason  still  showed  traces,  in  look  and  bearing,  of 
the  horror  he  had  witnessed.  But  he  had  sufficiently 
recovered  from  it  to  be  conscious  into  the  bargain  of 
his  own  personal  grievance,  of  their  spoilt  day,  and 
his  lost  chances.  Seaton,  too,  showed  annoyance  and 
impatience ;  and  as  Polly  entered  the  room  he  echoed 
Mason's  question. 

Polly  shook  her  head. 

"  She  says  she  won't  leave  the  child  till  the  last 
moment.  We  must  go  and  have  our  tea,  and  come 
back  for  her." 

"  Come  along  then  !  "  said  Mason  gloomily,  as  he 
led  the  way  to  the  door. 

The  little  garden  outside,  as  they  passed  through 


12  UELliECK  OF  BANiMSDALE 

it,  was  crowded  with  women  discussing  the  accident, 
and  every  now  and  then  a  crowd  would  gather  on  the 
pavement  and  disperce  again.  To  each  and  all  the 
speakers,  the  one  intolerable  thing  was  the  total  disap- 
pearance of  the  poor  lost  one.     No  body  —  luj  clotlios 

—  no  tangible  relic  of  the  dead:  it  was  a  sore  trial  to 
customary  beliefs.  Heaven  and  hell  seemed  alike 
inconceivable  when  there  Avas  no  phantom  grave-body 
to  nuike  trial  of  them.  One  Avoman  after  another 
declared  that  it  would  send  her  mad  if  it  ever  hap- 
pened to  any  belonging  of  hers.  "  But  it's  a  mercy 
there's  no  one  to  fret  —  nobbut  t'  little  gell  —  an  she's 
too  sma'."  There  was  much  talk  about  the  young  lady 
that  had  come  home  with  her  —  "a  nesh  pretty-lukiu 
yoong  creetur  "  —  to  whom  little  Nelly  clung  strangely 

—  no  doubt  because  she  and  her  father  had  been  so  few 
weeks  in  Frosvvick  that  there  had  l)een  scarcely  time 
for  them  to  make  friends  of  their  own.  The  child 
held  the  lady's  gown  in  her  clutch  perpetually, 
Mr.  Dixon  reported  —  would  not  lose  sight  of  her 
for  a  moment.  But  the  lady  herself  Avas  only  a 
visitor  to  Eroswick,  was  being  just  taken  through 
the  Avorks,  Avhen  the  accident  happened,  and  was  to 
leave  the  toAvn  by  an  evening  train  —  so  it  was  said. 
HoAvever,  there  Avould  be  those  left  behind  Avho  Avould 
look  after  the  poor  lamb  —  Mrs.  Starr,  Avho  had  taken 
the  tea  to  the  Avorks,  and  Mrs.  Dixon,  the  Overtons' 


IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  I'd 

landlady.  The}^  were  in  tlie  house  now ;  but  the  lady 
had  begged  everyone  else  to  keep  outside. 

The  summer  evening  crept  on. 

At  half-past  six  Polly  with  Hubert  behind  her 
climbed  the  stairs  of  the  little  house.  Polly  pushed 
open  the  door  of  the  back  room,  and  Hubert  peered 
over  her  shoulder. 

Inside  was  a  small  workman's  room,  with  a  fire 
burning,  and  the  window  wide  open.  There  were 
tea-things  on  the  table ;  a  canary  bird  singing  loudly 
in  a  cage  beside  the  window;  and  a  suit  of  man's 
clothes  with  a  clean  shirt  hanging  over  a  chair  near 
the  fire. 

In  a  rocking-chair  by  the  window  lay  the  little  girl 
—  a  child  of  about  nine  years  old.  She  Avas  quite 
colourless,  but  she  Avas  not  crying.  Her  eyes  still 
had  the  look  of  terror  that  the  sight  of  the  works 
had  called  up  in  them,  and  she  started  at  every 
sound.  Laura  was  kneeling  beside  her,  trying  to 
make  her  drink  some  tea.  The  child  kept  pushing 
the  tea  away,  but  her  other  hand  held  fast  to  Laura's 
arm.  On  the  further  side  of  the  table  sat  tAvo  elderly 
women. 

'^  Laura,  there's  only  just  time ! "  said  Polly  softly, 
putting  her  head  through  the  door. 

The  child  started  painfully,  and  the  cup  Laura  held 
was  with  difficulty  saved  from  falling. 


1-4  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

Laura  stooped  and  kissed  the  little  one's  cheek. 

*'  Dear,  will  you  let  me  go  now  ?  Mrs.  Dixon  will 
take  care  of  you  —  and  I'll  come  and  see  you  again 
soon.'' 

Nelly  began  to  breathe  fast.  She  caught  Laura's 
sleeve  with  both  hands. 

"  Don't  you  go,  Miss  —  I'll  not  stay  with  her."  She 
nodded  towards  her  landlady. 

"  Now,  Nelly,  you  must  be  a  good  girl,"  said  Mrs. 
Dixon,  rising  and  coming  forward  —  she  was  a  strange, 
ugly  woman,  with  an  almost  bald  head  —  "you  must  do 
what  your  poor  papa  wud  ha  wished  you  to  do.  Let  the 
lady  go,  an  I'll  take  care  on  you  same  as  one  o'  my 
own,  till  they  can  come  and  take  you  to  the  House." 

"  Oh  !  don't  say  that ! "  cried  Laura. 

But  it  was  too  late.  The  child  had  heard  the  word 
—  had  inider stood  it. 

She  looked  wildly  from  one  to  the  other,  then  she 
threw  herself  against  the  side  of  the  chair,  in  a  very 
madness  of  crying.  Now,  she  pushed  even  Laura 
away.  It  seemed  as  though  at  the  sound  of  that  one 
word  she  had  felt  herself  indeed  forsaken,  she  had 
become  acquainted  with  her  grief. 

Laura's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

Polly,  standing  at  the  dooi",  spoke  to  her  in  vain. 

"  There's    another    train  —  Mr,    Seaton   said   so ! " 


IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  15 

Laura  threw  the  words  over  her  shoulder  as  though 
in  anger.  Hubert  Mason  stood  behind  her.  In  her 
excitement  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  was  dragging  her 
by  force  from  this  sobbing  and  shrieking  misery 
before  her. 

''  I  don't  believe  he's  right.  I  never  heard  of  any 
train  later  than  the  7.10,"  said  Mason,  in  perplexity. 

"  Go  and  ask  him." 

Mason  went  away  and  returned. 

"  Of  course  he  swears  there  is.  You  won't  get  Seaton 
to  say  he's  mistaken  in  a  hurry.  All  I  know  is  I 
never  heard  of  it." 

"He  must  be  right,"  said  Laura  obstinately. 
"  Don't  trouble  about  me  —  send  a  cab.     Oh  !  " 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  ears  for  an  instant,  as 
they  stood  by  the  door,  as  though  to  shut  out  the 
child's  cries.  Hubert  looked  down  upon  her,  hesitat- 
ing, his  face  flushed,  his  eyes  drawn  and  sombre. 

"Now  —  you'll  let  me  take  you  home,  Miss 
Laura?  It'll  be  very  late  for  you.  I  can  get  back 
to-morrow." 

She  looked  up  suddenly. 

"No,  ?io.'"  she  said,  almost  stamping.  "I  can  get 
home  alone  quite  well.     I  want  no  one." 

Then  she  caught  the  lad's  expression  —  and  put  her 
hand  to  her  brow  a  moment. 

"  Come  back  for  me  now  at  any  rate  —  in  an  hour," 


16  UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

she'said  in  another  voice.  "  Please  take  me  to  the  train 
—  of  course.     I  must  go  then." 

"  Oh,  Laura,  I  can't  wait ! "  cried  Polly  from  the 
stairs  —  "I wish  I  could.  But  mother's  sending  Daf- 
fady  with  the  cart — and  she'd  be  that  cross." 

Laura  came  out  to  the  stairway. 

"  Don't  wait.  Just  tell  the  carriage  —  mind  " — she 
hung  over  the  banisters,  enforcing  the  words — "tell 
them  that  I'm  coming  by  the  later  train.  They're  not 
to  send  down  for  me  again — I  can  get  a  cab  at  the  inn. 
Mind,  Polly, — did  yon  hear?" 

She  bent  forward,  caught  Polly's  assent,  and  ran 
back  to  the  child. 

An  hour  later  Mason  found  Laura  with  little  Nelly 
lying  heavily  asleep  in  her  arms.  At  sight  of  him 
she  put  finger  on  lip,  and,  rising,  carried  the  child  to 
her  bed.  Tenderly  she  put  her  down  —  tenderly  kissed 
the  little  hand.  The  child's  utter  sleep  seemed  to 
soothe  her,  for  she  turned  away  with  a  smile  on  her 
blanched  lips.  She  gave  money  to  Mrs.  Starr,  who 
was  to  nurse  the  little  one  for  a  week,  and  then,  it 
seemed  to  Mason,  she  was  all  alacrity,  all  eagerness  to 
go. 

"  Oh !  but  we're  late ! "  she  said,  looking  at  her 
watch  in  the  street.  And  she  hastily  put  her  head 
out  of  the  window  and  iuiplort^d  the  cabman  to  hurry. 


EELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  17 

Mason  said  nothing. 

The  station,  when  they  reached  it,  was  in  a  Satur- 
day night  ferment.  Trains  were  starting  and  arriv- 
ing, the  platforms  were  packed  with  passengers. 

Mason  said  a  word  to  a  porter  as  they  rushed  in. 
The  porter  answered ;  then,  while  they  fled  on,  the  man 
stopped  a  moment  and  looked  back  as  though  about  to 
run  after  them.  But  a  dozen  passengers  with  luggage 
laid  hands  upon  him  at  once,  and  he  was  left  with  no 
time  for  more  than  the  muttered  remark : 

"  Marsland  ?  Why,  there's  no  train  beyond  Brae- 
side  to-night." 

"No.  4  platform,"  said  Hubert  to  his  companion. 
"  Train  just  going."  Laura  threw  off  her  exhaustion 
and  ran. 

The  guard  was  just  putting  his  whistle  to  his  lips. 
Hubert  lifted  her  into  her  carriage. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said,  waving  to  him,  and  disap- 
peared at  once  into  a  crowd  of  fellow-passengers. 

"  Eight  for  Marsland  ?  "  cried  Hubert  to  the  guard. 

The  guard,  who  had  already  whistled,  waved  his 
flag  as  he  replied  : 

"  Marsland  ?  No  train  beyond  the  junction  to-night." 

Hubert  paused  for  a  moment,  then,  as  the  train  was 
moving  briskly  out,  sprang  upon  the  foot-board.  A 
porter  rushed  up,  the  door  was  opened,  and  he  was 
shoved  in  amid  remonstrances  from  front  and  rear. 

VOL.    ]I.  —  C 


18  UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

The  heavily  laden  train  stopped  at  every  station 
—  was  already  nearly  an  hour  late.  Holiday  crowds 
got  in  and  out;  the  platforms  were  gay  with  talk 
and  laughter. 

Mason  saw  nothing  and  heard  nothing.  He  sat 
leaning  forward,  his  hat  slouched  over  his  eyes.  The 
man  opposite  thought  he  had  fallen  asleep. 

Whose  fault  was  it  ?  Not  his !  He  might  have 
made  sure  ?  Why,  wasn't  Seaton's  word  good 
enough  ?     She  thought  so. 

Why  hadn't  he  made  sure  ?  —  in  that  interval  be- 
fore he  came  back  for  her.  She  might  have  stayed 
at  Froswick  for  the  night.  Plenty  of  decent  people 
would  have  put  her  up.  He  remembered  how  he  had 
delayed  to  call  the  cab  till  the  last  moment. 

.  .  .  Good  God !  how  could  a  man  know  what  he 
had  thought !  He  was  fair  moidered  —  bedazzled  — 
by  that  awful  thing  —  and  all  the  change  of  j)lans. 
And  there  was  Seaton's  word  for  it.  Seaton  was  a 
practical  man,  and  always  on  the  railway. 

What  would  she  say  —  when  the  train  stopped? 
In  anticipation  he  already  heard  the  cry  of  the 
porters  —  "  Braeside  —  all  change ! "  The  perspira- 
tion started  on  his  brow.  Why,  there  was  sure  to 
be  a  decent  inn  at  Braeside,  and  he  would  do  every- 
thing for  her.  She  would  be  glad  —  of  course  she 
would  be  glad  to  see  him  —  as  soon  as  she  discovered 


H  EL  BECK  OF  BANNISDALE  19 

her   dilemma.      After   all   lie   was   her   cousin  —  her 
blood  relation. 

And  Mr.  Helbeck?  The  lad's  hand  clenched.  A 
clock-face  came  slowly  into  view  at  a  wayside  station. 
8.45.  He  was  noAv  waiting  for  her  at  Marsland. 
For  the  Squire  himself  would  bring  the  trap ;  there 
was  no  coachman  at  Bannisdale.  A  glow  of  fierce 
joy  passed  through  the  lad's  mind,  as  he  thought 
of  the  Squire  waiting,  the  train's  arrival,  the  empty 
platform,  the  returning  carriage.  What  would  the 
Squire  think  ?  Damn  him  !  —  let  him  think  what 
he  liked. 

MeauAvhile,  in  another  carriage,  Laura  leant  back 
with  shut  eyes,  pursued  by  one  waking  dream  after 
another.  Shadow  and  flame  —  the  whirling  sparks  — 
the  cry !  —  that  awful  wrenching  of  the  heart  in  her 
breast  —  the  parting  crowd,  and  the  white-faced 
child,  phantom-like,  in  its  midst.  She  sat  up,  shaken 
anew  by  the  horror  of  it,  trying  to  put  it  from  her. 

The  carriage  was  now  empty.  All  the  other 
travellers  had  dismounted,  and  she  seemed  to  be 
rushing  through  the  summer  night  alone.  For  the 
long  daylight  was  nearly  done.  The  purple  of  the 
June  evening  was  passing  into  the  more  myste- 
rious purple  of  the  starlight ;  a  clear  and  jewelled 
sky  hung  softly  over  valleys  with  "seaward  parted 


20  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

lips,"  over  woods  with  the  wikl  rose  bushes  shining 
dimly  at  their  edge;  over  knolls  of  rocky  ground, 
crowned  with  white  spreading  farms ;  over  those 
distant  forms  to  the  far  north  where  the  mountains 
melted  into  the  night. 

Her  heart  was  still  wrung  for  the  orphaned  child 
—  prized  yesterday,  no  doubt  —  they  said  he  was 
a  good  father  !  —  desolate  to-day  —  like  herself. 
"  Daddy  !  —  where's  Daddy  ?  "  She  laid  her  brow 
against  the  window-sill  and  let  the  tears  come  again, 
as  she  thought  of  that  trembling  cry.  For  it  was 
her  own  —  the  voice  of  her  own  hunger  —  orphan  to 
orphan. 

And  yet,  after  this  awful  day  —  this  never  to  be 
forgotten  shock  and  horror  —  she  was  not  unhappy. 
Rather,  a  kind  of  secret  joy  possessed  her  as  the 
train  sped  onward.  Her  nature  seemed  to  be  sink- 
ing wearily  into  soft  gulfs  of  reconciliation  and  re- 
pose. Froswick,  with  its  struggle  and  death,  its 
newness  and  restlessness,  was  behind  her  —  she  was 
going  home,  to  the  old  house,  with  its  austerity  and 
peace. 

Home  ?  Bannisdale,  home  ?  How  strange  !  But 
she  was  too  tired  to  fight  herself  to-night  —  she  let 
the  word  pass.  In  her  submission  to  it  there  was  a 
secret  pleasure. 

.  .  .  The  first  train  had  come  in  by  now.     Eagerly, 


. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  21 

she  saw  Polly  on  the  platform — Polly  looking  for  the 
pony  cart.  Was  it  old  Wilson,  or  Mr.  Helbeck  ? 
Wilson,  of  course!  And  yet — yet  —  she  knew  that 
Wilson  had  been  away  in  Whinthorpe  on  farm  busi- 
ness all  day.  And  Mr.  Helbeck  was  careful  of  the 
old  man.  Ah  well !  there  would  be  something  —  and 
someone  —  to  meet  her  when  she  arrived.  Her  heart 
knew  that. 

Now  they  were  crossing  the  estuary.  The  moon 
was  rising  over  the  sands,  and  those  far  hills,  the 
hills  of  Bannisdale.  There  on  the  further  bank  were 
the  lights  of  Braeside.  She  had  forgotten  to  ask 
whether  they  changed  at  the  junction  —  probably  the 
Marsland  train  would  be  waiting. 

The  Greet !  —  Its  voice  was  in  her  ears,  its  many 
channels  shone  in  the  flooding  light.  How  near  the 
hills  seemed!  —  just  a  moonlight  walk  along  the 
sands,  and  one  was  there,  under  the  old  tower  and 
the  woods.  The  sands  were  dangerous,  people  said. 
There  were  quicksands  among  them,  and  one  must 
know  the  paths.  Ah !  well  —  she  smiled.  Hum- 
drum trains  and  cabs  were  good  enough  for  her  to- 
night. 

She  hung  at  the  open  window,  looking  down  into 
the  silver  water.  How  strange,  after  these  ghastly 
hours,  to  feel  yourself  floating  in  beauty  and  peace  — 
a  tremulous  peace  —  like  this  ?    The  world  going  your 


22  HELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

way  —  the   soul   yielding   itself   to  fate  —  taking   no 
more  painful  thought  for  the  morrow 

"  Braeside  !     All  change  ! " 

Laura  sprang  from  the  carriage.  The  station  clock 
opposite  told  her  to  her  dismay  that  it  was  nearly 
half-past  eleven. 

"Where's  the  Marsland  train?"  she  said  to  the 
porter  who  had  come  forward  to  help  her.  "  And 
how  dreadfully  late  we  are ! " 

"  Marsland  train,  ]\Iiss  !     Last  one  left  an  hour  ago 

—  no  other  till  6.12  to-morrow  morning." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Oh  !  you  didn't  hear !  —  it's 
the  train  for  Marsland  I  want." 

"  Afraid  you  won't  get  it  then,  Miss,  till  to-morrow. 
Didn't  they  warn  you  at  Froswick  ?  They'd  ought 
to.     This  train  only  makes  the  main-line  connection 

—  for  Crewe  and  Kugby  —  no  connection  Whinthorpe 
way  after  8.20." 

Laura's  limbs  seemed  to  waver  beneath  her.  A  step 
on  the  platform.     She  turned  and  saw  Hubert  Mason. 

a  You!" 

Mason  thought  she  would  faint.  He  caught  her 
arm  to  support  her.  The  porter  looked  at  them  curi- 
ously, then  moved  away,  smiling  to  himself. 

Laura  tottered  to  the  railing  at  the  back  of  the 
platform  and  supported  herself  against  it. 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISBALE  23 

"  What  are  you  liere  for '/  "  she  said  to  him  in  a 
voice  —  a  voice  of  hatred  —  a  voice  that  stung. 

He  ghmced  down  upon  her,  pulling  his  fair  mous- 
tache.    His  handsome  face  was  deeply  flushed. 

"  I  only  heard  there  was  no  train  on,  from  the 
guard,  just  as  you  were  starting ;  so  I  jumped  into 
the  next  carriage  that  I  might  be  of  some  use  to  you 
here  if  I  could.  You  needn't  look  at  me  like  that," 
he  broke  out  violently  —  ''I  couldn't  help  it ! " 

"  You  might  have  found  out,"  she  said  hoarsely. 

"  Say  you  believe  I  did  it  on  purpose  !  —  to  get  you 
into  trouble !  — you  may  as  Avell.  You'd  believe  any- 
thing bad  about  me,  I  know." 

Already  there  was  a  new  note  in  his  voice,  a  hoarse, 
tyrannous  note,  as  though  he  felt  her  in  his  power. 
In  her  terror  the  girl  recalled  that  wild  drive  from 
the  Browhead  dance,  with  its  disgusts  and  miseries. 
Was  he  sober  now?  What  was  she  to  do? — how 
was  she  to  protect  herself?  She  felt  a  passionate 
conviction  that  she  was  trapped,  that  he  had  planned 
the  whole  catastrophe,  knowing  well  what  would  be 
thought  of  her  at  Bannisdale  —  in  the  neighbourhood. 

She  looked  round  her,  making  a  desperate  effort 
to  keep  down  exhaustion  and  excitement.  The  main- 
line train  had  just  gone,  and  the  station-master,  with 
a  lantern  in  his  hand,  was  coming  up  the  platform. 

Laura  went  to  meet  him. 


24  U  EL  BECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

"  I've  made  a  mistake  and  missed  the  last  train 
to  Marsland.  Can  I  sit  here  in  the  station  till  the 
morning  ?  " 

The  station-master  looked  at  her  sharply  —  then 
at  the  man  standing  a  yard  or  two  behind  her.  The 
yonng  lady  had  to  his  eye  a  wild,  dishevelled  ap- 
pearance. Her  fair  hair  had  escaped  its  bonds  in 
all  directions,  and  was  hanging  loose  npon  her  neck 
behind.  Her  hat  had  been  crumpled  and  bent  by 
the  child's  embracing  arms;  the  little  muslin  dress 
showed  great  smears  of  coal-dust  here  and  there, 
and  the  light  gloves  were  black. 

"  No,  Miss,"  he  said,  with  rough  decision.  "  You 
can't  sit  in  the  station.  There'll  be  one  more  train 
down  directly  —  the  express  —  and  then  we  shut  the 
station  for  the  night." 

"■  How  long  will  that  be  ? "  she  asked  faintly. 
He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Thirty-five  minutes.  You  can  go  to  the  hotel. 
Miss.     It's  quite  respectable." 

He  gave  her  another  sharp  glance.  He  was  a 
Dissenter,  a  man  of  northern  piety,  strict  as  to  his 
own  morals  and  other  people's.  AVliat  on  earth  was 
she  doing  here,  in  that  untidy  state,  with  a  young 
man,  at  an  hour  going  on  for  midnight?  Missed 
train?  The  young  man  said  nothing  about  missed 
trains. 


EELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  25 

But  just  as  lie  was  turning  away,  the  girl  de- 
tained him. 

"How  far  is  it  across  the  sands  to  Marsland  sta- 
tion ?  " 

"  Eight  miles,  about  —  shortest  way." 

"  And  the  road  ?  " 

"  Best  part  of  fifteen." 

He  walked  off,  throwing  a  parting  word  behind 
him. 

"Now  understand,  please,  I  can't  have  anybody 
here  when  we  lock  up  for  the  night." 

Laura  hardly  heard  him.  She  was  looking  first 
to  one  side  of  the  station,  then  to  the  other.  The 
platform  and  line  stood  raised  under  the  hill.  Just 
outside  the  station  to  the  north  the  sands  of  the 
estuary  stretched  bare  and  Avide  under  the  moon. 
In  the  other  direction,  on  her  right  hand,  the  hills 
rose  steeply;  and  close  above  the  line  a  limestone 
quarry  made  a  huge  gash  in  the  fell-side.  She  stood 
and  stared  at  the  wall  of  glistening  rock  that  caught 
the  moon;  at  the  little  railing  at  the  top,  sharp 
against  the  sky;  at  the  engine-house  and  empty 
trucks. 

Suddenly  she  turned  back  towards  Mason.  He 
stood  a  few  yards  away  on  the  platform,  watching 
her,  and  possessed  by  a  dumb  rage  of  jealousy  that 
entirely   prevented    him   from   playing   any   rational 


26  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

or  plausible  part.  Her  bitter  tone,  her  evident  mis- 
ery, her  refusal  an  hour  or  two  before  to  let  him 
be  her  escort  home  —  all  that  he  had  feared  and  sus- 
pected that  morning  —  during  the  past  few  weeks,  — 
these  things  made  a  dark  tumult  about  him,  in  which 
nothing  else  was  audible  than  the  alternate  cries  of 
anger  and  passion. 

But  she  walked  up  to  him  boldly.  She  tried  to 
laugh. 

"  Well !  it  is  very  unlucky  and  very  disagreeable. 
But  the  station-master  says  there  is  a  respectable 
inn.  Will  you  go  and  see,  while  I  wait  ?  If  it 
won't  do  —  if  it  isn't  a  place  I  can  go  to  —  I'll  rest 
here  while  you  ask,  and  then  I  shall  walk  on  over  the 
sands  to  Marsland.     It's  eight  miles  —  I  can  do  it." 

He  exclaimed : 

"  No,  you  can't."  —  His  voice  had  a  note  of  which 
he  was  unconscious,  a  note  that  increased  the  girl's 
fear  of  him.  — "  Not  unless  you  let  me  take  jon. 
And  I  suppose  you'd  sooner  die  than  put  up  with 
another  hour  of  me !  —  The  sands  are  dangerous. 
You  can  ask  them." 

He  nodded  towards  the  men  in  the  distance. 

She  put  a  force  on  herself,  and  smiled.  "Why 
shouldn't  you  take  me  ?  But  go  and  look  at  the  inn 
first  —  please  !  —  I'm  very  tired.  Then  come  and  re- 
port." 


! 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  27 

She  settled  herself  on  a  seat,  and  drew  a  little 
white  shawl  about  her.  From  its  folds  her  small  face 
looked  up  softened  and  beseeching. 

He  lingered  —  his  mind  half  doubt,  half  violence. 
He  meant  to  force  her  to  listen  to  him  —  either  now, 
or  in  the  morning.  For  all  her  scorn,  she  should- 
know,  before  they  parted,  something  of  this  misery 
that  burnt  in  him.  And  he  would  say,  too,  all  that 
it  pleased  him  to  say  of  that  priest-ridden  fool  at 
Bannisdale. 

She  seemed  so  tiny,  so  fragile  a  thing  as  he  looked 
down  upon  her.  An  ugly  sense  of  power  came  to  con- 
sciousness in  him.  Coupled  ,with  despair,  indeed ! 
For  it  was  her  very  delicacy,  her  gentlewoman's  grace 

—  maddeningly  plain  to  him  through  all  the  stains  of 
the  steel  works  —  that  made  hope  impossible,  that 
thrust  him  down  as  her  inferior  forever. 

"  Promise  you  won't  attempt  anything  by  yourself 

—  promise  you'll  sit  here  till  I  come  back,"  he  said  in 
a  tone  that  sounded  like  a  threat. 

"Of  course." 

He  still  hesitated.  Then  a  glance  at  the  sands  de- 
cided him.  How,  on  their  bare  openness,  could  she 
escape  him?  —  if  she  did  give  him  the  slip.  Here 
and  there  streaks  of  mist  lay  thin  and  filmy  in  the 
moonlight.  But  as  a  rule  the  sands  were  clear,  the 
night  without  a  stain. 


28  nELBECK  OF  liANNISDALE 

"  All  right.     I'll  be  back  in  ten  minntes  —  less  ! " 

She  nodded.  He  hurried  along  the  platform,  asked 
a  question  or  two  of  the  station-master,  and  dis- 
appeared. 

She  turned  eagerly  to  watch.  She  saw  him  run 
down  the  road  outside  the  station  —  past  a  grove  of 
trees  —  out  into  the  moonlight  again.  Then  the  road 
bent  and  she  saw  him  no  more.  Just  beyond  the 
bend  appeared  the  first  houses  of  the  little  town. 

She  rose.  Her  heart  beat  so,  it  seemed  to  her  to  be 
a  hostile  thing  hindering  her.  A  panic  terror  drove 
her  on,  but  exhaustion  and  physical  weakness  caught 
at  her  will,  and  shod  her  feet  with  lead. 

She  walked  down  the  platform,  however,  to  the 
station-master. 

"The  gentleman  has  gone  to  inquire  at  the 'inn. 
Will  you  kindly  tell  him  when  he  comes  back  that  I 
had  made  up  my  niiud  after  all  to  walk  to  Marsland  ? 
He  can  catch  me  up  on  the  sands." 

"  Very  good.  Miss.  But  the  sands  aren't  very  safe 
for  those  that  don't  know  'em.  If  you're  a  stranger 
you'd  better  not  risk  it." 

"  I'm  not  a  stranger,  and  my  cousin  knows  the  way 
perfectly.     You  can  send  him  after  me." 

She  left  the  station.  In  her  preoccupation  she  never 
gave  another  thought  to  the  station-master. 

But  there  was  something  in  the  whole  matter  that 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  29 

roused  that  person's  curiosity.  He  walked  along  the 
raised  platform  to  a  point  where  he  could  see  what 
became  of  the  young  lady. 

There  was  only  one  exit  from  the  station.  But  just 
outside,  the  road  from  the  town  passed  in  a  tunnel 
under  the  line.  To  get  at  the  sands  one  must  double 
back  on  the  line  after  leaving  the  station,  walk  through 
the  tunnel,  and  then  leave  the  road  to  your  right. 
The  stony  edge  of  the  sands  came  up  to  the  road, 
which  shot  away  eastwards  along  the  edge  of  the 
estuary,  a  straight  white  line  that  gradually  lost  itself 
in  the  night. 

The  man  watching  saw  the  small  figure  emerge. 
But  the  girl  never  once  turned  to  the  tunnel.  She 
walked  straight  towards  the  town,  and  he  lost  sight 
of  her  in  a  dense  patch  of  shadow  made  by  some  over- 
hanging trees  about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  station. 

"  Upon  my  word,  she's  a  deep  'un ! "  he  said,  turn- 
ing away ;  "  it  beats  me  —  fair." 

"  Hi !  "  shouted  the  porter  from  the  end  of  the  plat- 
form.    ''  There's  a  message  just  come  in,  sir." 

The  station-master  turned  to  the  telegraph  office  in 
some  astonishment.  It  was  not  the  ordinary  signal 
message,  or  the  down  signal  would  have  dropped. 

He  read  off.  '^  If  a  lady  arrives  by  10.20,  too  late 
for  IMarsland  train,  kindly  help  her  make  arrange- 
ments for  night.     Direct  her  to  White  Hart  Inn,  tell 


30  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

her  will  ineot  her  Marsland  first  train.  Reply.  Hel- 
beck.  I5;iiinis(lale." 

The  station-master  stared  at  the  message.  It  was, 
of  course,  hmg  after  hours,  and  Mr.  Iielbe(;k  —  whose 
name  he  knew — must  have  had  considerable  difficulty 
in  sending  the  message  from  Marsland,  where  the 
station  woidd  have  been  shut  before  ten  o'clock,  after 
the  arrival  of  the  last  train. 

Another  click -=- and  the  rattle  of  the  signal  out- 
side. The  express  was  at  hand.  He  was  not  a  man 
capable  of  much  reasoning  at  short  notice,  and  he  had 
already  drawn  a  number  of  unfavourable  inferences 
from  the  conduct  of  the  two  people  who  had  just 
been  hanging  about  the  station.  So  he  hastily  re- 
plied : 

"  Lady  left  station,  said  intended  to  walk  by  sands, 
but  has  gone  towards  town.     Gentleman  with  her." 

Then  he  rushed  out  to  attend  to  the  express. 

But  Laura  had  not  gone  to  the  town.  From  the 
platform  she  had  clearly  seen  a  path  on  the  fell-side, 
leading  over  some  broken  ground  to  the  great  quarry 
above  the  station.  The  grove  of  trees  had  hidden  the 
starting  of  the  path  from  her,  but  some  outlet  into  the 
road  there  must  be ;  she  had  left  the  station  in  quest 
of  it. 

And  as   soon  as  she  reached  the  trees  a  gate  ap- 


t 

HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  31^' 

[)eared  in  the  wall  to  the  left.  She  passed  through  it," 
and  hurried  up  the  steep  path  beyond  it.  Again  and 
again  she  hid  herself  behind  the  boulders  with  which 
the  fell  was  strewn,  lest  her  moving  figure  should  be 
seen  from  below  —  often  she  stopped  in  terror,  haunted 
by  the  sound  of  steps,  imagining  a  breath,  a  voice,  be- 
hind her. 

She  ran  and  stumbled  —  ran  again  —  tore  her  light 
dress  —  gulped  down  the  sob  in  her*  throat  —  fearing 
at  every  step  to  faint,  and  so  be  taken  by  the  pursuer ; 
or  to  slip  into  some  dark  hole  —  the  ground  seemed 
full  of  them  —  and  be  lost  there  —  still  worse,  found 
there !  —  wounded,  defenceless. 

But  at  last  the  slope  is  climbed.  She  sees  before 
her  a  small  platform,  on  a  black  network  of  support- 
ing posts  —  an  engine-house  —  and  beyond,  truck  lines 
with  half-a-dozen  empty  trucks  upon  them,  lines  that 
run  away  in  front  of  her  along  the  descending  edge 
of  the  first  low  hill  she  has  been  climbing. 

Further  on,  a  dark  gulf  —  then  the  dazzling  wall  of 
the  quarry.  A  patch  of  deepest,  blackest  shadow,  at 
the  seaward  end  of  the  engine-house,  caught  her  eye. 
She  gained  it,  sank  down  within  it,  strengthless  aud 
gasping. 

Surely  no  one  could  see  her  here !  Yet  presently 
she  perceived  beside  her  a  low  pile  of  planks  within 
the  shadow,  and   for  greater  protection  crept  behind 


32  UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

them.  Her  eyes  topped  them.  The  whole  lower 
world,  tlie  roofs  of  the  station,  the  railway  line,  the 
sands  beyond,  lay  clear  before  her  in  the  moon. 

Then  her  nerve  gave  way.  She  laid  her  liead 
against  the  stones  of  the  engine-house  and  sobbed. 
All  her  self-command,  her  cool  clearness,  was  gone. 
The  shock  of  disappointment,  the  terrors  of  this 
sudden  loneliness,  the  nightmare  of  her  stumbling 
flight  coming  upon  a  nature  already  shaken,  and 
powers  already  lowered,  had  worked  with  miserable 
effect.  She  felt  degraded  by  her  OAvn  fears.  But  the 
one  fear  at  the  root  of  all,  that  included  and  generated 
the  rest,  held  her  in  so  crippling,  so  torturing  a  vice, 
that  do  what  she  would,  she  could  not  fight  herself 
—  could  only  weep  —  and  weep. 

And  yet  supposing  she  had  walked  over  the  sands 
with  her  cousin,  would  anybody  have  thought  so  ill  of 
her  —  would  Hubert  himself  have  dared  to  offer  her 
any  disrespect  ? 

Then  again,  why  not  go  to  the  inn  ?  Could  she  not 
easily  have  found  a  woman  on  whom  to  throw  herself, 
who  would  have  befriended  her? 

Or  why  not  have  tried  to  get  a  carriage  ?  Fifteen 
miles  to  Marsland  —  eighteen  to  Bannisdale.  Even 
in  this  small  place,  and  at  midnight,  the  promise  of 
money  enough  would  probably  have  found  her  a  fly 
and  a  driver. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALK  33 

But  these  thoughts  only  rose  to  be  shuddered  away. 
All  her  rational  being  was  for  the  moment  clouded. 
The  presence  of  her  cousin  had  suddenly  aroused  in 
her  so  strong  a  disgust,  so  hot  a  misery,  that  flight 
from  him  was  all  she  thought  of.  On  the  sands,  at 
the  inn,  in  a  carriage,  he  would  still  have  been  there, 
within  reach  of  her,  or  beside  her.  The  very  dream 
of  it  made  her  crouch  more  closely  behind  the  pile  of 
planks. 

The  moon  is  at  her  height ;  across  the  bay,  moun- 
tains and  lower  hills  rise  towards  her,  "ambitious" 
for  that  silver  hallowing  she  sheds  upon  shore  and 
bay.  The  night  is  one  sigh  of  softness.  The  rivers 
glide  glistening  to  the  sea.  Even  the  shining  roofs  of 
the  little  station  and  the  white  line  of  the  road  have 
beauty,  mingle  in  the  common  spell.  But  on  Laura 
it  does  not  work.  She  is  in  the  hall  at  Bannisdale  — 
on  the  Marsland  platform  —  in  the  woodland  roads 
through  which  Mr.  Helbeck  has  driven  home. 

No !  —  by  noAv  he  is  in  his  study.  She  sees  the 
crucifix,  the  books,  the  little  altar.  There  he  sits  — 
he  is  thinking,  perhaps,  of  the  girl  who  is  out  in  the 
night  with  her  drunken  cousin,  the  girl  whom  he  has 
warned,  protected,  thought  for  in  a  hundred  ways  — 
who  had  planned  this  day  out  of  mere  wilfulness  — 
who  cannot  possibly  have  made  any  honest  mistake 
as  to  times  and  trains. 

VOL.    II.  —  D 


34  UELliECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

She  wrings  her  hands.  Oh  !  but  Tolly  must  have 
explained,  must  have  convinced  him  that  owing  to  a 
prig's  self-confidence  they  were  all  equally  foolish, 
equally  misled.  Unless  Hubert  —  ?  But  then,  how 
is  she  at  fault?  In  imagination  she  says  it  all 
through  Polly's  lips.  The  words  glow  hot  and  piteous, 
carrying  her  soul  with  them.  l>ut  that  face  in  the 
oak  chair  does  not  change. 

Yet  in  flashes  the  mind  Avorks  clearly;  it  rises  and 
rebukes  this  surging  pain  that  breaks  upon  it  like 
waves  upon  a  reef.  Folly !  If  a  girl's  name  were 
indeed  at  the  mercy  of  such  chances,  why  should  one 
care  —  take  any  trouble?  Would  such  a  ravening 
world  be  worth  respecting,  worth  the  fearing  ? 

It  is  her  very  innocence  and  ignorance  that  rack 
her.  Why  should  there  be  these  mysterious  suspicions 
and  penalties  in  the  world  ?  Her  mind  holds  nothing 
that  can  answer.     But  she  trembles  none  the  less. 

How  strange  that  she  should  tremble !  Two  months 
before,  would  the  same  adventure  have  affected  her  at 
all?  Why,  she  would  have  laughed  it  down;  would 
have  walked,  singing  perhaps,  across  the  sands  with 
Hubert. 

Some  secret  cause  has  weakened  the  will  — para- 
lysed all  the  old  daring.  Will  he  never  even  scold  or 
argue  with  her  again  ?  Nothing  but  a  cold  tolerance 
—  bare  civility  and  protection  for  Augustina's  sake  ? 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISBALE  35 

But  never  the  old  rare  kindness  —  never !  He  has 
been  much  away,  and  she  has  been  secretly  bitter, 
ready  to  revenge  herself  by  some  caprice,  like  a 
crossed  child !  But  the  days  of  return  —  the  hours 
of  expectation,  of  recollection ! 

Her  heart  opens  to  her  own  reading  —  like  some 
great  flower  that  bursts  its  sheath.  But  such  pain  — 
oh,  such  pain !  She  presses  her  little  fingers  on  her 
breast,  trying  to  drive  back  this  humiliating  truth 
that  is  escaping  her,  tearing  its  way  to  the  light. 

How  is  it  that  contempt  and  war  can  change  like 
this  ?  She  seems  to  have  been  fightmg  against  some- 
thing that  all  the  time  had  majesty,  had  charm  — that 
bore  within  itself  the  forces  that  tame  a  Avoman.  In 
all  ages  the  woman  falls  before  the  ascetic — before 
the  man  who  can  do  without  her.  The  intellect  may 
rebel ;  but  beneath  its  revolt  the  heart  yields.  Oh ! 
to  be  guided,  loved,  crushed  if  need  be,  by  the  mystic, 

il     whose  first  thought  can  never  be  for  you  —  who  puts 
his  OAvn  soul,  and  a  hundred  torturing  claims  upon  it, 

i|     before  your  lips,  your  eyes !     Strange  passion  of  it ! 

—  it  rushes  through  the  girl's  nature  in  one  blending 
storm  of  longing  and  despair.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  What  sound  was  that  ? 

She  raised  her  head.      A  call  came  from  the  sands 

—  a  distant  call,  floating  through  the  night.     Another 

—  and  another  !     She  stood  up  —  she  sprang  on  the 


S6  HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

heap  of  planks,  straining  her  eyes.  Yes  —  surely  she 
saw  a  figure  on  that  wide  expanse  of  sand,  moving 
quickly,  moving  away  ?  And  one  after  another  the 
cries  rose,  waking  dim  echoes  from  the  shore. 

It  was  Hubert,  no  doubt  —  Hubert  in  pursuit,  and 
calling  to  her,  lest  she  should  come  unawares  upon 
the  danger  spots  that  marked  the  sands. 

She  stood  and  watched  the  moving  speck  till  it  was 
lost  in  a  band  of  shadow.  Then  she  saw  it  no  more, 
and  the  cries  ceased. 

Would  he  be  at  Bannisdale  before  she  was  ?  She 
dashed  away  her  tears,  and  smiled.  Ah !  Let  him 
seek  her  there !  —  let  him  herald  her.  Light  broke 
upon  her ;  she  began  to  rise  from  her  misery. 

But  she  must  sleep  a  little,  or  she  would  never  have 
the  strength  to  begin  her  Avalk  with  the  dawn.  For 
walk  she  would,  instead  of  Avaiting  for  tardy  trains. 
She  saw  herself  climbing  the  fell  —  she  would  never 
trust  herself  to  the  road,  the  open  road,  where  cousins 
might  be  hiding  after  all  —  finding  her  way  through 
back  lanes  into  sleeping  villages,  waking  someone, 
getting  a  carriage  to  a  point  above  the  park,  then 
slipping  down  to  the  door  in  the  garden  and  so  enter- 
ing by  the  chapel,  when  entrance  was  possible.  ■  She 
would  go  straight  to  Augustina.  Poor  Augustina ! 
there  would  be  little  sleep  for  her  to-night.  The  tears 
rose  again  in  the  girl's  eyes. 


HELBECE  OF  BANNISDALE  37 

She  drew  liei-  thin  shawl  round  her,  and  crept 
again  into  the  shadow  of  the  engine-house.  ]^ot  three 
hours,  and  the  day  would  have  returned.  But  already 
the  dawn-breath  seemed  to  be  blowing  through  the 
night.     For  it  had  grown  cold  and  her  limbs  shivered. 

.  .  .  She  woke  often  in  terror,  pursued  by  sheets  of 
flame,  or  falling  through  unfathomed  space ;  haunted 
all  through  by  a  sense  of  doom,  an  awful  expectancy 
—  like  one  approaching  some  grisly  Atreus-threshold 
and  conscious  of  the  death  behind  it.  But  sleep 
seized  her  again,  a  cold  tormented  sleep,  and  the 
hours  passed. 

Meanwhile  the  light  that  had  hardly  gone  came 
welling  gently  back.  The  stars  paled;  the  high 
mountains  wrapped  themselves  in  clouds ;  a  clear 
yellow  mounted  from  the  east,  flooding  the  dusk  with 
cheerfulness.  Then  the  birds  woke.  The  diminished 
sands,  on  which  the  tide  was  creeping,  sparkled  with 
sea-birds;  the  air  was  soon  alive  with  their  white 
curves. 

With  a  start  Laura  awoke.  Above  the  eastern 
fells  scarlet  feather-clouds  Avere  hovering ;  the  sun 
rushed  upon  them  as  she  looked;  and  in  that  blue 
dimness  to  the  north  lay  Bannisdale. 

She  sprang  up,  stared  half  aghast  at  the  black 
depths  of  the  quarry,  beside  Avhich  she  had  been 
sleeping,  then  searched  the  fell  with  her  eyes.     Yes, 


38 


IIKLBECK  OF  liA.WMSDALK 


tliere  was  tlie  upward  path.  She  struck  into  it, 
praying  that  friend  and  houses  niiglit  meet  her 
soon. 

^Feanwhile   it  seemed  tliat  nothing  moved  in  the 
world  Imt  she. 


CHAPTER   III 

It  was  on  the  stroke  of  midniglit  when  the  mes- 
sage from  Braeside  was  handed  to  Mr.  Helbeck  by 
the  sleepy  station-master,  who  had  been  dragged  by 
that  gentleman's  urgency  from  his  first  slumbers  in 
the  neat  cottage  beside  the  line. 

The  master  of  Bannisdale  thrust  the  slip  of  paper 
into  his  pocket,  and  stood  an  instant  with  bent  head, 
as  though  reflecting. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Brough,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I 
will  not  ask  you  to  do  anything  more.     Good-night." 

Rightful  reward  passed,  an?l  Mr.  Helbeck  left  the 
station.  Outside,  his  pony  cart  stood  tied  to  the 
station  railing. 

Before  entering  it  he  debated  with  himself  whether 
he  should  drive  on  to  the  toAvn  of  jVIarsland,  get 
horses  there  and  then,  and  make  for  Braeside  at 
once. 

He  could  get  there  in  about  a  couple  of  hours. 
And  then? 

To   search   a   sleeping  town  for  Miss  Fountain  — 

would  that  mend  matters  ? 

39 


40  nELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

A  carriage  arriving  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing  —  the  inn  awakened  —  no  lady  there,  perhaps  — 
for  what  was  to  prevent  her  having  fonnd  decent 
shelter  in  some  quite  other  quarter  ?  "Was  he  to 
make  a  house-to-house  visitation  at  that  hour  ?  How 
wise !  How  quenching  to  the  gossip  that  must  in 
any  case  get  abroad ! 

He  turned  the  pony  homewards. 

Augustina,  all  shawls  and  twitching,  opened  the 
door  to  him.  A  message  had  been  sent  on  to  her  an 
hour  before  to  the  effect  that  Miss  Fountain  had 
missed  her  train,  and  was  not  likely  to  arrive  that 
night. 

''  Oh,  Alan  !  —  where  is  she  ?  " 

"I  got  a  telegram  through  to  the  station-master. 
Don't  be  anxious,  Augustina.  I  asked  him  to  direct 
her  to  the  inn.  The  (?ld  White  Hart,  they  say,  has 
passed  into  new  management  and  is  quite  comfortable. 
She  may  arrive  by  the  first  train  —  7.20.  Anywaj^  I 
shall  meet  it." 

Augustina  pursued  him  with  fretful  inquiries  and 
siirmises.  Helbeck,  pale  and  gloomy,  threw  himself 
down  on  the  settle,  and  produced  the  story  of  the 
accident,  so  far  as  the  garrulous  and  incoherent  Polly 
had  enabled  him  to  understand  it.  Fresh  wails  on 
Augustina's  part.  What  a  horrible,  horrible  thing! 
"Why,  of  course  the  child  was  terribly  upset  —  hurt 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  41 

perhaps  —  or  she  would  never  have  been  so  foolish 
about  the  trains.  And  now  one  could  not  even  be  sure 
that  she  had  found  a  place  to  sleep  in !  She  would 
come  home  a  wreck  —  a  simple  wreck.  Helbeck 
moved  uneasily. 

"  She  was  not  hurt,  according  to  Miss  Mason." 

"  I  suppose  young  Mason  saw  her  off  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"What  were  they  all  about,  to  make  such  a 
blunder  ?  " 

Helbeck  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  at  last  he 
succeeded  in  quieting  his  sister,  by  dint  of  a  resolute 
suppression  of  all  but  the  most  ordinary  and  comfort- 
ing suggestions. 

"  Well,  after  all,  thank  goodness,  Laura  has  a  great 
deal  of  common  sense  —  she  always  had,"  said  Mrs. 
Fountain,  with  a  clearing  countenance. 

"  Of  course.  She  will  be  here,  I  have  little  doubt, 
before  you  are  ready  for  your  breakfast.  It  is  un- 
lucky, but  it  should  not  disturb  your  night's  rest. 
Please  go  to  bed."  With  some  difficulty  he  drove  her 
there. 

Augustina  retired,  but  it  was  to  spend  a  broken  and 
often  tearful  night.  Alan  might  say  what  he  liked  — 
it  was  all  most  disagreeable.  Why !  —  would  the  inn 
take  her  in  ?  Mrs.  Fountain  had  often  been  told  that 
an  inn,  a  respectable  inn,  required  a  trunk  as  well  as 


42  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

a  person.  And  Laura  had  not  even  a  bag  —  positively 
not  a  hand-bag.  A  reflection  which  was  the  starting- 
point  of  a  hundred  new  alarms,  under  which  poor 
Mrs.  Fountain  tossed  till  the  morning. 

Meanwhile  Helbeek  went  to  his  stud3^  It  was 
nearly  one  o'clock  when  he  entered  it,  but  the  thouglit 
of  sleep  never  occurred  to  him.  He  took  out  of  his 
pocket  the  telegram  from  Braeside,  re-read  it,  and 
destroyed  it. 

So  Mason  was  with  her  —  for  of  course  it  was 
Mason.  Not  one  word  of  such  a  conjunction  was  to 
be  gathered  from  the  sister.  She  had  clearly  sup- 
posed that  Laura  would  start  alone  and  arrive  alone. 
Or  was  she  in  the  plot  ?  Had  Mason  simply  arranged 
the  whole  "mistake,"  jumped  into  the  same  train 
with  her,  and  confronted  her  at  the  junction  ? 

Helbeek  moved  blindly  up^  and  down  the  room, 
traversed  by  one  of  those  storms  of  excitement  to 
which  the  men  of  his  stock  were  liable.  The  thought 
of  those  two  figures  leaving  the  Braeside  station  to- 
gether at  midnight  roused  in  him  a  madness  half 
jealousy,  half  pride.  He  saw  the  dainty  head,  the 
cloud  of  gold  under  the  hat,  the  pretty  gait,  the  girl- 
ish waist,  all  the  points  of  delicacy  or  charm  he  had 
worshipped  through  his  paiu  these  many  weeks.  To 
think  of   them  in  the  mere   neighbourhood   of   that 


IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  43 

coarse  and  sensual  lad  had  always  been  profanation. 
And  now  who  would  not  be  free  to  talk,  to  spatter  her 
girlish  naine  ?  The  sheer  unseemliness  of  such  a  kin- 
ship !  —  such  a  juxtaposition. 

If  he  could  only  know  the  true  reason  of  that 
persistency  she  had  shown  about  the  expedition,  in 
the  face  of  Augustina's  wailings,  and  his  own  silence  ? 
She  had  been  dull  —  Heaven  knows  she  had  been 
dull  at  Bannisdale,  for  these  two  months.  On  every 
occasion  of  his  return  from  those  intermediate  ab- 
sences to  which  he  had  forced  himself,  he  had  per- 
ceived that  she  drooped,  that  she  was  dumbly  at 
war  with  the  barriers  that  shut  her  youth  away 
from  change  and  laughter,  and  the  natural  amuse- 
ments, flatteries  and  courtings  that  wait,  or  should 
wait,  on  sweet-and-twenty.  More  than  once  he  had 
realised  the  fever  pulsing  through  the  girl's  unrest. 
Of  course  she  was  dissatisfied  and  starved.  She  was 
not  of  the  sort  that  accepts  the  role  of  companion  or 
sick  nurse  without  a  murmur.  What  could  he  do  — 
he,  into  whose  being  she  had  crept  with  torturing 
power  —  he  who  could  not  marry  her  even  if  she 
should  cease  to  hate  him  —  who  could  only  helplessly 
put  land  and  distance  between  them  ?  And  then, 
who  knows  what  a  girl  plans,  to  what  she  will  stoop, 
out  of  the  mere  ebullience  and  rush  of  her  youth  — 
with  Avhat  haloes  she  will  surround  even  the  meanest 


44  HELBECK   OF  B  ANN  I  SB  ALE 

heads  ?  Her  blood  calls  liej-  —  not  this  man  or  that ! 
She  takes  her  decisions  —  behind  tha.t  veil  of  mys- 
tery that  masks  the  woman  at  her  will.  And  who 
knows  —  who  can  know  ?  A  mother,  perhaps.  Kot 
Angustina  —  not  he  —  nor  another. 

Groans  broke  from  him.  In  vain  he  scourged  him- 
self and  the  vileness  of  his  own  thoughts.  In  vain 
he  said  to  himself,  "  All  her  instincts,  her  prefer- 
ences, are  pure,  guileless,  delicate  —  I  could  swear  it, 
I,  who  have  watched  her  every  look  and  motion." 
Temper  ?  —  yes.  Caprice  ?  —  yes.  A  hundred  im- 
maturities and  rawnesses? — yes!  but  at  the  root  of 
all,  the  most  dazzling,  the  most  convincing  maidenli- 
ness.  Not  the  down-dropt  eyes,  the  shrinking  mod- 
esties of  your  old  Christian  or  Catholic  types  —  far 
from  it.  But  something  that,  as  you  dwelt  upon  it, 
seemed  to  ihake  doubt  a  mere  folly. 

And  yet  his  very  self-assurances,  his  very  pro- 
tests, left  him  in  torment.  There  is  something  in 
the  Catholic  discipline  on  points  of  sex-relation  that 
perhaps  weakens  a  man's  instinctive  confidence  in 
women.  Evil  and  its  varieties,  in  this  field,  are 
pressed  upon  his  thoughts  perpetually  with  a  scho- 
lastic fulness  so  complete,  a  deductive  frankness  so 
compelling,  that  nothing  stands  against  the  process. 
He  sees  cornqDtion  everywhere  —  dreads  it  every- 
where.     There  is  no  part  of   its  empire,  or  its  ao 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  45 

tion,  tliat  his  imagination  is  allowed  to  leave  in 
shadow.  It  is  tlie  confessional  that  works.  The 
devout  Catholic  sees  all  the  world  suh  si^ecie  peccati. 
The  flesh  seems  to  him  always  ready  to  fall  —  the 
devil  always  at  hand. 

—  Little  restless  proud  creature !  What  a  riddle 
she  has  been  to  him  all  the  time — flitting  about  the 
house  so  pale  and  inaccessible,  so  silent,  too,  in 
general,  since  that  night  when  he  had  wrestled  with 
her  in  the  drawing-room.  One  moment  of  fresh 
battle   between   them   there   has  been  —  in  the  park 

—  on  the  subject  of  old  Scarsbrook.     Preposterous! 

—  that  she  should  think  for  one  moment  she  could 
be  allowed  to  confess  herself — and  so  bring  all  the 
low  talk  of  the  neighbourhood  about  her  ears.  He 
could  hear  the  old  man's  plaintive  cogitations  over 
the  strange  experience  which  had  blanched  his  hair 
and  beard  and  brought  him  a  visible  step  nearer  to 
his  end.  "  Soombody  towd  my  owd  woman  tudther 
day,  Misther  Helbeck,  at  yoong  Mason  o'  t'  Brow- 
head  had  been  i'  th'  park  that  neet.  Mappen  tha'll 
tell  me  it  was  soom  gell  body  he'd  been  coortin. 
Noa! — he  doan't  gaa  about  wi'  the  likes  o'  thattens! 
Theer  was  never  a  soun'  ov  her  feet,  Misther  Hel- 
beck !  She  gaed  ower  t'  grass  like  a  bit  cloud  i' 
summer,  an  slie  Avor  sma'  an  nesh  as  a  wagtail  on 
t'  steeans.     I  ha  seen  aw  maks  o'  gells,  but  this  one 


4t5  IIELBECK  OF  liANNISDALE 

bet  'em  aw."  And  aftci-  lliat,  1o  tliink  of  her  pour- 
ing herself  out  in  impetuous  exphmation  to  the  old 
peasant  and  liis  wife  I  It  had  needed  a  strong  will 
to  sto})  lier.  "Mr.  Jlelbeck,  I  wish  to  tell  the  truth, 
and  1  oiiglit  to  tell  it!  And  your  arguments  have 
no  wt'ight  with  me  whatever," 

I'.ut  he  had  made  them  prevail.  And  she  had 
not  punished  him  too  severely.  A  little  more  pallor, 
a  little  more  silence  for  a  time  —  that  was  all ! 

A  score  of  poignant  recollections  laid  hold  upon 
him  as  he  paced  the  night  away.  That  music  in 
the  summer  dusk  —  the  softness  of  her  little  face  — 
the  friendliness  —  first,  incredible  friendliness!  —  of 
her  lingering  hand.  Next  moriiing  he  had  banished 
himself  to  Paris,  on  a  Catholic  mission  devised  for 
the  purpose.  He  had  gone,  torn  with  passion  — 
gone,  in  the  spirit  that  drives  the  mystic  through 
all  the  foruxs  of  self-torture  that  religious  history 
records  —  ad  majorem  Dei  gloriam.  He  had  returned 
to  find  her  frozen  and  hostile  as  before  —  all  wil- 
fulness with  Augustina  —  all  contradiction  with  him- 
self. The  Froswick  plan  was  ali'eady  on  foot  —  and 
he  had  furthered  it  —  out  of  a  piteous  wish  to  pro- 
pitiate her,  to  make  her  happy.  What  harm  could 
happen  to  her  ?  The  sister  would  go  with  her  and 
bring  her  back.  Why  must  he  always  play  the  dis- 
obliging  and  tyrannical  host  ?     Could   he  undo   the 


IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  47 

blood-relationship  between  her  and  the  Masons  ?  If 
for  mere  difficulty  and  opposition's  sake  there  were 
really  any  fancy  in  her  mind  for  this  vulgar  lad, 
perhaps  after  all  it  were  the  best  thing  to  let  her 
see  enough  of  him  for  disenchantment !  There  are 
instincts  that  can  be  trusted. 

Such  had  been  the  thoughts  of  the  morning.  They 
do  not  help  him  through  these  night  hours,  when, 
in  spite  of  all  the  arguments  of  common  sense,  he 
recurs  again  and  again  to  the  image  of  her  as  alone, 
possibly  defenceless,  in  Mason's  company. 

Suddenly  he  perceived  that  the  light  was  changing. 
He  put  his  lamp  out  and  threw  back  the  curtain. 
V  pale  gold  was  already  creeping  up  the  east.  The 
trange  yew  forms  in  the  garden  began  to  emerge 
from  the  night.  A  huge  green  lion  showed  his  jaw, 
his  crown,  his  straight  tail  quivering  in  the  morning 
breeze ;  a  peacock  nodded  stiffly  on  its  pedestal ;  a 
great  H  that  had  been  reared  upon  its  post  sup- 
ports before  Dryden's  death  stood  black  against  the 
morning  sky,  and  everywhere  between  the  clumsy 
crowding  forms  were  roses,  straggling  and  dew- 
drenched,  or  wallflowers  in  a  June  wealth  of  bloom, 
or  peonies  that  made  a  crimson  flush  amid  the  yews. 
The  old  garden,  so  stiff  and  sad  through  all  the  rest 
of  the  year,  was  in  its  moment  of  glory. 

Helbeck   opened  one   of   the  lattices  of  the  oriei, 


48  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

anil  stood  there  gazing.  Six  months  before  there 
had  been  a  passionate  oneness  between  him  and 
his  inheritance,  between  his  nature  and  the  spirit 
of  liis  race.  Their  privations  and  persecutions,  their 
faidts,  their  dumb  or  stupid  fidelities,  their  very 
vices  even,  liad  V)een  the  source  in  him  of  a  constant 
and  secret  affection.  For  their  vices  came  from 
their  long  martyrdom,  and  their  martyrdom  from 
their  faith.  New  influences  had  worked  upon  him- 
self, influences  linking  him  with  a  more  European 
and  militant  Catholicism,  as  compared  with  that 
starved  and  local  type  from  which  he  sprang.  But 
through  it  all  his  family  pride,  his  sense  of  ancestry 
with  all  its  stimulus  and  obligations,  had  but  grown. 
He  was  proud  of  calamity,  impoverishment,  isolation ; 
they  were  the  scars  on  pilgrims'  feet  —  honour-marks 
left  by  the  oppressor.  His  bare  and  ruined  house, 
his  melancholy  garden,  where  not  a  bed  or  path  had 
suffered  change  since  the  man  who  planned  them 
had  refused  to  comply  with  the  Test  Act,  and  so 
forfeited  his  seat  in  Parliament ;  his  dwindling  re- 
sources, his  hermit's  life  and  fare  —  were  they  not 
all  joy  to  him?  For  years  he  had  desired  to  be  a 
Jesuit;  the  obligations  of  his  place  and  name  had 
stood  in*  the  way.  And  short  of  being  a  son  of  St. 
Ignatius,  he  exulted  in  being  a  Helbeck — the  more 
stripped  and  despised,  the  more  happy  —  with  those 


HELBECK  OF  BAyNISDALE  49 

inaiiued  generations  behind  him,  and  the  triumph,  of 
his  faith,  his  faith  and  theirs,  gilding  the  mind's 
horizon. 

And  now  after  just  four  months  of  temptation  he 
stands  there,  racked  with  desire  for  this  little  pagan 
creature,  this  girl  without  a  single  Christian  senti- 
ment or  tradition,  the  child  of  an  infidel  father,  her- 
self steeped  in  denial  and  cradled  in  doubt,  with 
nothing  meekly  feminine  about  her  on  which  to  press 
new  stamps  —  and  knowing  well  why  she  denies,  if 
not  personally  and  consciously,  at  least  by  a  kind  of 
inheritance. 

The  tangled  garden,  slowly  yielding  its  splendours 
to  the  morning  light,  the  walls  of  the  old  house, 
springing  sheer  from  the  grass  like  the  native  rock 
itself — for  the  first  time  he  feels  a  gulf  between 
himself  and  them.  His  ideals  waver  in  the  soul's 
darkened  air;  the  breath  of  passion  drives  them  to 
and  fro. 

With  an  anguished  "  Domine,  exaudi !  "  he  snatched 
himself  from  the  window,  and  leaving  the  room  he 
crossed  the  hall,  where  the  Tudor  badges  on  the  ceil- 
ing, the  arms  of  "  Elizabetha  Kegina  "  above  the  great 
hearth  were  already  clear  in  the  cold  dawn,  and  made 
his  way  as  noiselessly  as  possible  to  the  chapel. 

Those  strange  figures  on  the  wall  had  already 
shaken  the  darkness  from  them.     Wing  rose  on  wing, 

VOL.   II.  E 


5U  IIF.LUECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

luilo  (111  halo,  oat'h  face  turning  in  a  mystic  passion  to 
the  altar  and  its  steadfast  light. 

Domhte  Dens,  ^lyiius  Dei,  Filias  Pair  is,  qui  tullis 
j^eccittii  III  audi,  iiusci2)e  cleprecationem  nostram.  Qui 
sedes  ad  dcxteram  Patris,  laiserere  nobis. 

Tn  iJrayov  and  passionate  meditation  he  passed 
througli  much  of  the  time  that  had  still  to  be  endured. 
But  meanwhile  he  knew  well,  in  his  sinful  and  shrink- 
ing mind,  tliat,  for  that  night  at  least,  he  was  only  pray- 
ing because  he  could  do  nothing  else  —  nothing  that 
would,  give  him  Laura,  or  deliver  him  from  the  fears 
that  shook  his  inmost  being. 

A  little  before  six  Helbeck  left  the  chapel.  He 
must  bathe  and  dress  —  then  to  the  farm  for  the 
pony  cart.  If  she  did  not  arrive  by  the  first  train  he 
would  get  a  horse  at  Marsland  and  drive  on  to 
Braeside.  But  first  he  must  take  care  to  leave  a 
message  for  Mrs.  Denton,  whose  venomous  face,  as 
she  stood  listening  the  night  before  to  his  story  of 
Miss  Fountain's  mishaps,  recurred  to  him  disagree- 
ably. 

The  housekeeper  would  not  be  stirring  yet,  perhaps, 
for  an  hour.  He  went  back  to  his  study  to  write 
her  some  short  directions  covering  the  hours  of  his 
possible  absence. 

The  room,  as  he  entered  it,  struck  him  as  musty 


ilELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  51 

and  airless,  in  spite  of  the  open  lattice.  Instinc- 
tively, before  writing,  he  went  to  throw  another  Avin- 
dow  wide.  In  rushed  a  fresh  rose-scented  air,  and 
he  leant  forward  an  instant,  letting  its  cool  current 
flow  through  him. 

Something  white  caught  his  eye  beneath  the  win- 
dow. 

Laura  slowly  raised  her  head. 

Had  she  fallen  asleep  in  her  fatigue  ? 

Helbeck,  bending  over  her,  saw  her  eyes  unclose. 
She  looked  at  him  as  she  had  never  looked  before  — 
with  a  sad  and  spiritual  simplicity  as  though  she  had 
waked  in  a  world  where  all  may  tell  the  truth,  and 
there  are  no  veils  left  between  man  and  woman. 

Her  light  hat  fell  back  from  her  brow;  her  deli- 
cate pinched  features,  with  the  stamp  of  suffering 
upon  them,  met  his  look  so  sweetly  —  so  frankly ! 

"I  was  verii  tired,"  she  said,  in  a  new  voice,  a  voice 
of  appealing  trust.     ''  And  there  was  no  door  open." 

She  raised  her  small  hand,  and  he  took  it  in  his, 
trembling  through  all  his  man's  strength. 

"  I  was  j  ust  starting  to  see  if  the  train  had  brought 
you." 

''No  —  I  walked  —  a  great  part  of  the  way,  at  least. 
Will  you  help  me  up  ?  It's  very  foolish,  but  I  can't 
stand." 


52  HELBECK  OF  liANNISDALE 

She  rose,  tottering,  auft  leaning  heavily  upon  his 
hand.     8he  drew  her  own  across  her  forehead. 

''  It's  only  hunger.  And.  1  had  some  milk.  Was 
Augustina  in  a  great  way  ?  " 

"  She  was  anxious,  of  course.     We  both  were." 

"  Yes  !  it  was  stupid.  But  look  — "  she  clung  to 
him.  "  Will  you  take  me  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
get  me  some  wine  —  before  I  see  iVugustina?" 

"  Lean  on  me." 

She  obeyed,  and  he  led  her  in.  The  drawing-room 
door  was  open,  and  she  sank  into  the  nearest  chair. 
As  she  looked,  up  she  saw  the  Romney  lady  shining 
from  the  wall  in  the  morning  sunlight.  The  blue- 
eyed  beauty. looked,  down,  as  though  with  a  careless 
condescension,  upon  the  pale  and.  tattered  Laura. 
But  Laura  was  neither  envious  nor  ashamed.  As 
Helbeck  left  her  to  get  wine,  she  lay  still  and  white ; 
but  in  the  solitude  of  the  room  while  he  was  gone,  a 
little  smile,  ghostly  as  the  dawn  itself,  fluttered  sud- 
denly beneath  her  closed  lids  and  was  gone  again. 

When  he  returned,  she  did  her  best  to  drink  and 
eat  what  she  was  told.  But  her  exhaustion  became 
painfully  apparent,  and  he  hung  over  her,  torn  be- 
tween anxiety,  remorse,  and  the  pulsations  of  a 
frantic  joy,  hardly  to  be  concealed,  even  by  him. 

"Let  me  wake  Augustina,  and  bring  her  down !  " 

"No  —  wait  a  little.  I  have  been  in  a  quarry  all 
night,  you  see!     That  isn't  —  resting!" 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  53 

"  I  tried  to  direct  you  —  I  managed  to  telegraph  to 
the  station-master  ;  but  it  must  have  missed.  I  asked 
him  to  direct  you  to  the  inn." 

"  Oh,  the  inn !  "  She  shuddered  suddenly.  "  No,  I 
couldn't  go  to  the  inn." 

"  Why  —  what  frightened  you  ?  " 

He  sat  down  by  her,  speaking  very  gently,  as  one 
does  to  a  child. 

She  was  silent.  His  heart  beat  —  his  ear  hungered 
for  the  next  word. 

She  lifted  her  tired  lids. 

"My  cousin  was  there  —  at  the  junction.  I  did 
not  want  him.  I  did  not  Avish  to  be  with  him;  he 
had  no  right  whatever  to  follow  me.  So  I  sent  him 
to  the  inn  to  ask  —  and  I " 

"You ?" 

"  I  hid  myself  in  the  quarry  while  he  was  gone. 
When  he  came  back,  he  went  on  over  the  sands,  call- 
ing for  me  —  perhaps  he  thought  I  was  lost  in  one  of 
the  bad  places." 

She  gave  3,  little  whimsical  sigh,  as  though  it 
pleased  her  to  think  of  the  lad's  possible  frights  and 
wanderings. 

Helbeck  bent  towards  her. 

"  And  so  —  to  avoid  him ?  " 

She  followed  his  eye  like  a  child. 

"  I  had  noticed  a  quarry  beside  the  line.     I  climbed 


54  llELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

up  there  —  luulei'  tlio  engine-house  —  and  sat  there  till 
it  was  light.  You  see"  —  her  l)r(>atli  lluttered — "I 
couldn't  —  I  couldn't  be  sure  —  he  was  sober.  1  dare 
say  it  was  ridiculous  —  but  I  was  so  startled  —  and 
he  had  no  business " 

"He  had  given  you  no  hint  —  that  he  wished  to 
accompany  you  ?  " 

Something  drove,  persecuted  the  man  to  ask  it  in 
that  hoarse,  shaking  tone. 

She  did  not  answer.  She  simply  looked  at  him, 
while  the  tears  rose  softly  in  her  clear  eyes.  The 
question  seemed  to  Imit  her.  Yet  there  was  neither 
petulance  nor  evasion.  She  was  Laura,  and  not 
Laura  —  the  pale  sprite  of  herself.  One  might  have 
fancied  her  clothed  already  in  the  heavenly  super- 
sensual  body,  with  the  pure  heart  pulsing  visibly 
through  the  spirit  frame. 

Helbeck  rose,  closed  the  door  softly,  came  back  and 
stood  before  her,  struggling  to  speak.  But  she  inter- 
cepted him.      There  was  a  look  of  suffering,  a  frown. 

"I  saw  a  man  die  yesterday,"  she, said  abruptly. 
"  Did  Folly  tell  you  ?  " 

"  I  heard  of  the  accident,  and  that  you  had  stayed 
to  comfort  the  child." 

"It  seems  very  lieartless,  but  somehow  as  we 
were  in  the  train  I  had  almost  forgotten  it.  I  was 
so  glad   to  get  away  from  Froswick  —  to  be  coming 


1 


nSLBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  55 

back.  And  I  was  very  tired,  of  course,  and  never 
dreamt  of  anything  going  wrong.  Oh,  no  !  I  haven't 
forgotten  really  —  I  never  shall  forget." 

She  pressed  her  hands  together  shuddering.  Hel- 
beck  was  still  silent. 

But  it  was  a  silence  that  pierced.  Suddenly  she 
flushed  deeply.  The  spell  that  held  her  —  that 
strange  transparency  of  soul  —  broke  up. 

"jSTaturally  I  was  afraid  lest  Augustina  shovild  be 
anxious,"  she  said  hastily,  ''and  lest  it  should  be 
bad  for  her." 

Helbeck  knelt  down  beside  her.  She  sank  back 
in  her  chair,  staring  at  him. 

"  You  were  glad  to  be  coming  back  —  to  be  com- 
ing here  ? "  he  said  in  his  deep  voice.  "  Is  that 
true  ?  Do  you  know  that  I  have  sat  here  all  night 
—  in  misery  ?  " 

The  struggling  breath  checked  the  answer,  cheeks 
and  lips  lost  every  vestige  of  their  returning  red. 
Only  her  eyes  spoke.  Helbeek  came  closer.  Sud- 
denly he  snatched  the  little  form  to  his  breast.  She 
made  one  small  effort  to  free  herself,  then  yielded. 
Soul  and  body  were  too  weak,  the  ecstasy  of  his 
touch  too  great. 

"You  can't  love  me  —  you  can't." 

She   had    torn   herself    away.     They   were   sitting 


56  nELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

side  by  side ;  but  now  she  would  not  even  give  liini 
liev  hand.  That  one  trembling  kiss  had  changed 
their  lives.  But  in  both  natures  passion  was  proud 
and  fastidious  from  its  birth ;  it  could  live  without 
iiiiu-h  caressing. 

As  she  spoke,  he  met  her  gaze  with  a  smiling 
emotion.  The  long,  stern  face  in  its  grizzled  setting 
of  liair  and  beard  had  suffered  a  transformation  that 
made  it  almost  strange  to  her.  He  Avas  like  a  man 
loosed  from  many  bonds,  and  dazzled  by  the  effects 
of  his  own  will.  The  last  few  minutes  had  made 
him  young  again.  But  she  looked  at  him  wistfully 
once  or  twice,  as  though  her  fancy  nursed  something 
which  had  grown  dear  to  it. 

"  You  can't  love  me,"  she  repeated ;  "  when  did 
you  begin?  You  didn't  love  me  yesterday,  you 
know  —  nor  the  day  before." 

"  Why  do  you  suppose  I  went  away  the  day  after 
the  ghost  ? "  he  asked  her  slowly. 

"  Because  you  had  business,  or  you  were  tired  of 
my  very  undesirable  company." 

"  Put  it  as  you  like !  Do  you  explain  my  recent 
absences  in  the  same  way?" 

•'  Oh,  I  can't  explain  you  !  "  She  raised  her  shoul- 
ders, but  her  face  trembled.     "  I  never  tried." 

"  Let  me  show  you  how.  I  went  because  you  were 
here." 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  57 

"  And  you  were  afraid  —  that  you  miglit  love  )ne  ? 
Was  it  —  such  a  hard  fate  ?  "  She  turned  her  head 
away. 

"  What  have  I  to  offer  you  ?  "  he  said  passionately ; 
"  poverty  —  an  elderly  lover  —  a  life  uncongenial  to 
you." 

She  slipped  a  hand  nearer  to  him,  but  her  face 
clouded  a  little. 

"It's  the  very  strangest  thing  in  the  world,"  she 
said  deliberately,  "  that  we  should  love  '  each  other. 
What  can  it  mean  ?  I  hated  }•  ou  when  I  came,  and 
meant  to  hate  you.  And  "  —  she  sat  up  and  spoke 
with  an  emphasis  that  brought  the  colour  back  into 
her  face  —  "I  can  never,  never  be  a  Catholic." 

He  looked  at  her  gravely, 

"  That  I  understand." 

"  You  know  that  I  was  brought  up  apart  from 
religion,  altogether  ?  " 

His  eye  saddened.  Then  he  raised  her  hand  and 
kissed  it.  The  pitying  tenderness  of  the  action 
almost  made  her  break  down.  But  she  tried  to 
snatch  her  hand  away.     * 

"  It  was  papa's  doing,  and  I  shall  never  blame  him 

—  never ! " 

"  I  have  been  in  Belgium  lately,"  he  said,  holding 
the  hand  close,  "  at  a  great  Catholic  town  —  Louvain 

—  where  I  was  educated.     I  went  to  an  old  priest  I 


58  IlELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

know,  and  to  a  Reverend  Mother  wlio  has  sent  nie 
Sisters  once  or  twice,  and  I  begged  of  them  both  — 
prayers  for  your  father's  soul." 

She  stared.     The  painful  tears  rushed  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  thought  that  —  for  you  —  that  was  all  sure  and 
settled  long  ago." 

"  I  don't  think  you  know  much  about  us,  little 
heretic !  I  have  prayed  for  your  father's  soul  at 
every  Mass  since  —  you  remember  that  Rosary 
service   in   April  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"  And  what  you  said  to  me  afterwards,  about  the 
child  —  and  doubt  ?  I  stayed  long  in  the  chapel  that 
night.  It  was  borne  in  upon  me,  with  a  certainty  I 
shall   never   lose,  that  all  was  well  with  your  poor 

* 

father.  Our  Blessed  Lord  has  revealed  to  liim  in 
that  other  life  what  an  invincible  ignorance  hid  from 
him  here." 

He  spoke  with  a  beautiful  simplicity,  like  a  man 
dealing  with  all  that  was  most  familiarly  and  yet 
sacredly  real  to  his  daily  mind  and  thought. 

She  trembled.  Words  and  ideas  of  the  kind  were 
still  all  strange  and  double-edged  to  her —  suggesting 
on  the  one  side  the  old  feelings  of  contempt  and 
resistance,  on  the  other  a  new  troubling  of  the  waters 
of  the  heart. 

She  leant  her  brow  against  the  back  of  the  old  sofa 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  59 

on  which  they  were  sitting.  "  And  —  and  no  prayers 
for  me  ?  "  she  said  huskily. 

"  Dear  love  !  —  at  all  times  —  in  all  places  —  at  my 
downsitting  and  mine  uprising,"  he  answered  —  every 
word  an  adoration. 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  she  dashed  the 
tears  from  her  eyes. 

"  All  the  same,  I  shall  never  be  a  Catholic,"  she 
repeated  resolutely ;  "  and  how  can  you  marry  an 
unbeliever  ?  " 

"My  Church  allows  it  —  under  certain  conditions." 

Her  mind  flew  over  the  conditions.  She  had  heard 
them  named  on  one  or  two  occasions  during  the  pre- 
ceding months.  Then  she  turned  away,  dreading  his 
eye. 

"  Suppose  I  am  jealous  of  your  Church  and  hate 
her  ? "  '  • 

"No !  —  you  will  love  her  for  my  sake." 

"I  can't  promise.  There  are  two  selves  in  me. 
All  your  Catholic  friends  —  Father  Leadham  —  the 
Reverend  Mother  —  will  be  in  despair." 

She  saw  liini  wince.  But  he  spoke  firmly.  "  I  ask 
only  what  is  lawful.  I  am  free  in  such  a  matter  to 
choose  my  own  path  —  under  my  conscience." 

She  said  nothing  for  a  little.  But  she  pondered  on 
all  that  he  might  be  facing  and  sacrificing  for  such  a 
marriage.      Once   a   cloud   of   sudden   misgiving   de- 


60  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

scended  upon  her,  as  though  a  bird  had  brushed  her 
with  its  bhu'k  wing.  l>ut  she  shook  it  away.  Her 
little  hand  crept  back  to  hiiu  —  while  her  face  was 
still  liidden  from  him. 

"I  ought  not  to  marry  you  —  but  —  but  I  will. 
There  —  take  me !  —  will  you  guide  me  ?  " 

"With  all  my  strength!" 

"Will  you  fight  me?" 

He  laughed.  "To  the  best  of  my  ability  —  when 
I  must.  Did  I  do  it  avcII — that  night  —  about  the 
ghost  ?  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders — half  laughing,  half 
crying. 

"No!  —  you  were  violent  —  impossible.  Will  you 
never,  never  let  me  get  the  upper  hand  ?  " 

"  How  would  you  do  it  ?  —  little  atom  !  "  He  bent 
over  her,  trying  to  see  her  face,  but  she  pressed  him 
away  from  her. 

"Make  me  afraid  to  mock  at  your  beliefs!"  she  said 
passionately ;  "  make  me  afraid !  —  there  is  no  other 
way." 

"  Laura ! " 

At  last  she  let  his  arms  have  their  will.  And  it 
was  time.  The  exhaustion  which  had  been  driven 
back  for  the  moment  by  food  and  excitement  returned 
upon  her  with  paralysing  force.  Helbeck  woke  to  a 
new  and  stronger  alarm.  He  half  led,  lialf  carried 
her  through  the  hall,  on  the  way  to  Augustina. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  61 

At  the  foot  of  tlie  stairs,  as  Laura  was  making  a 
tottering  effort  to  climb  them  with  Helbeck's  arm 
round  her,  Mrs.  Denton  came  out  of  the  dining-room 
straight  upon  them.  She  carried  a  pan  and  brush, 
and  had  evidently  just  begun  her  morning  work. 

At  sight  of  her  Laura  started;  but  Helbeck  gave 
her  no  chance  to  withdraw  herself.  He  turned  quietly 
to  his  housekeeper,  who  stood  transfixed. 

"Good-morning,  Denton.  Miss  Fountain  has  just 
returned,  having  walked  most  of  the  way  from  Brae- 
side.  She  is  very  tired,  as  you  see  —  let  some  break- 
fast be  got  ready  for  her  at  once.  And  let  me  tell 
you  now  —  what  I  should  anyway  have  told  you  a 
few  hours  later  —  that  Miss  Fountain  has  promised 
to  be  my  wife." 

He  spoke  with  a  cold  dignity,  scanning  the  Avoman 
closely.  Mrs.  Denton  grew  very  white.  But  she 
dropped  a  curtesy  in  old  Westmoreland  fashion. 

"I  wish  you  joy,  sir  —  and  JNIiss  Fountain,  too." 

Her  voice  was  low  and  mumbling,  but  Helbeck  gave 
her  a  cheerful  nod. 

"Thank  you.  I  shall  be  downstairs  again  as  soon 
as  I  have  taken  Miss  Fountain  to  my  sister  —  and  I, 
too,  should  be  glad  of  some  breakfast." 

"He's  been  agate  all  night,"  said  the  housekeeper 
to  herself,  as  she  entered  the  study  and  looked  at  the 
chairs,  the  lamp  which  its  master  had  forgotten  to  ex- 


62  HELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

tinguish,  the  open  Avindow.  ''  An  where's  she  been  ? 
Who  knows  ?  I  saw  it  from  the  first.  It's  a  bewitch- 
iiiciil — an  it'll  cooni  to  noa  good." 

She  went  about  her  dusting  with  a  shaking  hand. 

Aiignstina  was  not  told  till  later  in  the  day.  When 
her  brother,  who  was  alone  with  hev,  had  at  last  suc- 
ceeded in  making  her  understand  that  he  pro^DOsed  to 
make  Laura  Fountain  his  wife,  the  surprise  and  shock 
of  the  news  was  such  that  Mrs.  Fountain  was  only 
saved  from  faintness  by  her  very  strongest  smelling- 
salts. 

"Alan  —  my  dear  brother!  Oh!  Alan  —  you  can't 
have  thought  it  out.  She's  her  father's  child,  Alan, 
all  through.  How  can  you  be  happy  ?  Why,  Alan, 
the  things  sh'e  says  —  poor  Laura !  " 

"  She  has  said  them,"  he  replied. 

"  She  can't  help  saying  them  —  thinking  them  —  it's 
in  her.  No  one  will  ever  change  her.  Oh  !  it's  all  so 
strange " 

And  Augustina  began  to  cry,  silently,  piteously. 

Helbeck  bent  over  her. 

"  Augustina  ! "  He  spoke  with  emotion.  "  If  she 
loved,  wouldn't  that  change  her  ?  Don't  all  women 
live  by  their  affections  ?  I  am  not  worth  her  loving 
—  but " 

His  face  shone,  and  spoke  the  rest  for  him. 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISBALE  63 

Augustiua  looked  at  him  in  bewilderment.  Why, 
it  was  only  yesterday  that  Laura  disliked  and  despised 
him,  and  that  Alan  hardly  ever  spoke  when  her  step- 
daughter was  there.  It  Avas  utterly  incomprehensible 
to  her.  Was  it  another  punishment  from  Heaven  for 
her  own  wilful  and  sacrilegious  marriage  ?  As  she 
thought  of  the  new  conditions  and  relations  that  were 
coming  upon  them  all  —  the  disapproval  of  friends, 
the  danger  to  her  brother's  Catholic  life,  the  trans- 
formation of  her  OAvn  ties  to  Laura,  her  feeble  soul 
lost  itself  in  fear.  Secretly,  she  said  to  herself,  with 
the  natural  weariness  of  coming  age : 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  die  —  before  it  happens." 


BOOK  IV 


BOOK  IV 

CHAPTER  I 

AuGUSTiNA  was  sitting  in  the  garden  with  Father 
Bowles.  Their  chairs  were  placed  under  a  tall  Scotch 
fir,  which  spread  its  umbrella  top  between  them  and 
the  sun.  All  around,  the  old  garden  was  still  full  and 
flowery.     For  it  was  mid-September,  and  fine  weather. 

Mrs.  Fountain  was  lying  on  a  sort  of  deck-chair, 
and  had  as  usual  a  number  of  little  invalid  appliances 
about  her.  But  in  truth,  as  Father  Bowles  was  just 
reflecting,  she  looked  remarkably  well.  The  influ- 
ences of  her  native  air  seemed  so  far  to  have  brought 
Dr.  MacBride's  warnings  to  naught.  Or  was  it  the 
stimulating  effect  of  her  brother's  engagement  ?  At 
any  rate  she  talked  more,  and  with  more  vigour;  she 
was  more  liable  to  opinions  of  her  own;  and  in  these 
days  there  was  that  going  on  at  Bannisdale  which  pro- 
voked opinion  in  great  plenty. 

"Miss  Fountain  is  not  at  home?"  remarked  the 
old  priest.  An  afternoon  gossip  with  Mrs.  Fountain 
had  become  a  very  common  feature  of  his  recent  life. 

67 


08  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

"  Laura  has  gone,  I  believe,  to  meet  my  brother  at 
the  lodge.     He  has  been  over  to  Braeside  on  business." 

"  He  is  selling  some  land  there  ?  " 

"I  hope  so !  "  said  Augustina,  with  fervour. 

"It  is  time  indeed  that  our  poor  orphans  were 
housed,"  said  Father  Bowles  naively.  "  For  the  last 
three  months  some  of  our  dear  nuns  have  been  sleep- 
ing in  the  passages." 

Augustina  sighed. 

"It  seems  a  little  hard  that  there  is  nobody  but 
Alan  to  do  anything !     And  how  long  is  it  to  go  on  ?  " 

The  priest  bent  forward. 

"  You  mean ?  " 

"  How  long  will  my  stepdaughter  let  it  go  on  ?  " 
said  Augustina  impatiently.  "She  will  be  mistress 
here  directly." 

The  eyes  of  her  companion  flinched,  as  though 
something  had  struck  him.     But  he  hastened  to  say : 

"  Do  not  let  us  doubt,  my  dear  lady,  that  the  soul 
of  Miss  Fountain  will  sooner  or  later  be  granted  to 
our  prayers." 

"But  there  is  not  the  smallest  sign  of  it,"  cried 
Augustina.  And  she  in  her  turn  bent  towards  her 
companion,  unable  to  resist  the  temptation  of  these 
priestly  ears  so  patiently  inclined  to  her.  "  And  yet. 
Father,  she  isn't  happy  !  —  though  Alan  gives  way  to 
her  in  everything.     It's  not  a  bit  like  a  girl  in  love  — 


J,  ,- 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  69 

you'd  expect  her  to  be  thinking  about  her  clothes, 
and  the  man,  and  her  housekeeping  at  least  —  if  she 
won't  think  about  —  well !  those  other  things  that  we 
should  all  wish  her  to  think  about.  While  we  were 
at  the  sea,  and  Alan  used  to  come  down  every  now 
and  then  to  stay  near  us  in  lodgings,  it  was  all  right. 
They  never  argued  or  disputed ;  they  were  out  all 
day ;  and  really  I  thought  my  brother  began  to  look 
ten  years  younger.  But  now — since  we  have  come 
back  —  of  course  my  brother  has  all  his  affairs,  and  all 
his  Church  business  to  look  after,  and  Laura  doesn't 
seem  so  contented  —  nearly.  It  would  be  different  if 
she  cared  for  any  of  his  interests  —  but  I  often  think 
she  hates  the  orphans !  She  is  really  naughty  about 
them.  And  then  the  Sisters — oh  dear!"  —  Augus- 
tina  gave  a  worried  sigh  —  "I  don't  think  the  Eever- 
end  Mother  can  have  managed  it  at  all  well." 

Father  Bowles  said  that  he  understood  both  from 
the  Reverend  Mother  and  Sister  Angela  that  they 
had  made  very  great  efforts  to  secure  Miss  Fountain's 
friendly  opinion. 

''Well,  it  didn't  succeed,  that's  all  I  can  say," 
replied  Augustina  fretfully.  "And  I  don't  know 
what  they'll  do  after  Kovember." 

November  had  been  fixed  for  the  marriage,  which 
was  to  take  place  at   Cambridge. 

Father    Bowles     hung     his     hands     between     his 


70  UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

knees  and  looked  down  upon  them  in  gentle  nieditar 
tion. 

"  Your  brother  seems  still  very  much  attached " 

"  Attached ! " 

Augustina  was  silent.  In  reality  she  spent  half 
her  days  in  secretly  marvelling  how  such  a  good  man 
as  Alan  could  allow  himself  to  be  so  niiicli  in  love. 

"  If  only  someone  had  ever  warned  me  that  this 
might  happen  —  when  I  was  coming  back  to  live 
here,"  she  said,  in  her  most  melancholy  voice;  and 
clasping  her  tliin  hands  she  looked  sadly  down  the 
garden  paths,  while  her  })oor  head  shook  and  jerked 
under  the  influence  of  the  thoughts  —  so  far  from 
agreeable !  —  with  which  it  was  filled. 

There  was  a  little  silence.  Then  Father  Bowles 
broke  it. 

"And  our  dear  Squire  does  nothing  to  try  and 
change  jNIiss  Fountain's  mind  towards  the  Church  ?  " 
he  asked,  looking  vaguely  round  the  corner  all  the 
time. 

Nothing  —  so  Augustina  declared. 

"  I  say  to  him  — '  Alan,  give  her  some  books.' 
Why,  they  always  give  people  books  to  read !  '  Or 
get  Father  Leadham  to  talk  to  her.'  What's  the  good 
of  a  man  like  Father  Leadham  —  so  learned,  and  such 
manners !  —  if  he  can't  talk  to  a  girl  like  Laura  ?  But 
no,  Alan  won't.    He  says  we  must  let  her  alone  —  and 


H EL  BECK  OF  BANNISBALE  71 

wait  God's  time!  —  And  there's  no  altering  him,  as 
yon  know." 

Father  Bowles  pondered  a  little,  then  said  with  a 
mild  perplexity : 

"  I  find,  in  my  books,  that  a  great  many  instances 
are  recorded  of  holy  wives  —  or  even  betrothed  — 
who  were  instrumental  under  God  in  procuring  the 
conversion  of  their  unbelieving  husbands  —  or  —  or 
lovers,  if  I  may  use  such  a  word  to  a  lady.  But  I 
cannot  discover  any  of  an  opposite  nature.  There 
was  the  pious  Nonna,  for  instance,  the  mother  of  the 
great  St.  Gregory  Nazianzen,  who  converted  her  hus- 
band so  effectually  that  he  became  a  bishop,  and  died 
at  the  age  of  ninety." 

''  What  became  of  her  ?  "  inquired  Augustina  hastily. 

The  priest  hesitated. 

"It  is  a  very  curious  case  —  and,  I  understand, 
much  disputed.  Some  people  suppose  that  St. 
Gregory  was  born  after  his  father  became  a  bishop, 
and  many  infidel  writers  have  made  use  of  the  story 
for  their  own  malicious  purposes.  But  if  it  was  so, 
the  Church  may  have  allowed  such  a  departure  from 
her  laAv,  at  a  time  of  great  emergency  and  in  a  scarcity 
of  pastors.  But  the  most  probable  thing  is  that  noth- 
ing of  the  kind  happened  — "  he  drew  himself  up 
with  decision  — ''  that  the  father  of  St.  Gregory  had 
separated  from  his  wife  before  he  became  a  bishop  — 


72  nELBECK  OF  liANNISDALE 

aud  that  those  writers  who  record  the  birth  of  St. 
Gregory  during  the  episcopate  of  his  father  were 
altogether  mistaken." 

"At  any  rate,  I  really  don't  see  how  it  helps  us!" 
said  Augustina. 

Father  Bowles  looked  a  little  crestfallen. 

"There  is  one  other  case  that  occurs  to  me,"  he 
said  timidly.  "It  is  that  of  St.  Amator,  Bishop  of 
Auxerre.  He  was  desired  by  his  parents  to  marry 
Martha,  a  rich  young  lady  of  his  neighbourhood. 
But  he  took  her  aside,  and  pressed  upon  her  the 
claims  of  the  ascetic  life  Avith  such  fervour  that  she 
instantly  consented  to  renounce  the  world  with  him. 
She  therefore  went  into  a  convent ;  and  he  received 
the  tonsure,  and  was  in  due  time  made  Bishop  of 
Auxerre." 

"Well,  I  assure  you,  I  should  be  satisfied  Avith  a 
good  deal  less  than  that  in  Laura's  case ! "  said 
Augustina,  half  angry,  half  laughing. 

Father  Bowles  said  no  more.  His  mind  was  a 
curious  medley  of  scraps  from  many  quarters  —  from 
a  small  shelf  of  books  that  held  a  humble  place  in  his 
little  parlour,  from  the  newspapers,  and  from  the  few 
recollections  still  left  to  him  of  his  seminary  training. 
He  was  one  of  the  most  complacently  ignorant  of 
men  ;  and  it  had  ceased  to  trouble  him  that  even  with 
Augustina  he  was  no  longer  of  importance. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  73 

Mrs.  Fountain  made  him  welcome,  indeed,  not  only 
because  he  was  one  of  the  chief  gossips  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, but  because  she  was  able  to  assume  towards 
him  certain  little  airs  of  superiority  that  no  other 
human  being  allowed  her.  With  him,  she  Avas  the 
widow  of  a  Cambridge  scholar,  who  had  herself 
breathed  the  forbidden  atmosphere  of  an  English 
University ;  she  prattled  familiarly  of  things  and 
persons  wherewith  the  poor  pi-iest,  in  his  provincial 
poverty  and  isolation,  could  have  no  acquaintance ; 
she  let  him  understand  that  by  her  marriage  she  had 
passed  into  hell-flame  regions  of  pure  intellect,  that 
little  i:)arish  priests  might  denounce  but  could  never 
appreciate.  He  bore  it  all  very  meekly  ;  he  liked 
her  tea  and  talk ;  and  at  bottom  the  sacerdotal 
pride,  however  hidden  and  silent,  is  more  than  a 
match  for  any  other. 

Augustina  lay  for  a  while  in  a  frowning  and  flushed 
silence,  with  a  host  of  thoughts,  of  the  most  disagree- 
able and  heterogeneous  sort,  scampering  through  her 
mind.     Suddenly  she  said: 

"I  don't  think  Sister  Angela  should  talk  as  she 
does !  She  told  me  when  she  heard  of  the  engage- 
ment that  she  could  not  help  thinking  of  St.  Philip 
Neri,  who  was  attacked  by  three  devils  near  the 
Colosseum,  because  they  were  enraged  by  the  success 
of  his  holy  work  among  the  young  men  of  Rome.     I 


74  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

asked  her  wlietlicr  she  meant  to  call  Laura  a  devil ! 
And  she  coloured,  and  got  very  confused,  and  said  it 
was  so  sad  that  Mr.  Helbeck,  of  all  people,  should 
marry  an  unbelieving  wife  —  and  we  were  taught  to 
believe  that  all  temptations  came  from  evil  spirits." 

^'  Sister  Angela  means  well,  but  she  expresses  her- 
self very  unwarrantably,"  said  the  priest  sharply. 
"  Now  the  Keverend  Mother  tells  me  that  she  ex- 
pected something  of  the  kind,  almost  from  the  first." 

"  Why  didn't  she  tell  me  ?  "  cried  Augustina.  "But 
I  don't  really  think  she  did,  Father.  She  makes  a 
mistake.  How  could  she  ?  But  the  dear  Reverend 
Mother  —  well !  you  know  —  though  she  is  so  wonder- 
fully humble,  she  doesn't  like  anybody  to  be  wiser 
than  she.  And  I  can  hardly  bear  it — T  Tcnoiv  she 
puts  it  all  down  to  some  secret  sin  on  Alan's  part. 
She  spends  a  great  part  of  the  night  —  that  she  told 
me  —  in  praying  for  him  in  the  chapel." 

Father  Bowles  sighed. 

"  I  believe  that  our  dear  Eeverend  Mother  has  often 
and  often  prayed  for  a  good  wife  for  Mr.  Helbeck. 
Miss  Fountain,  no  doubt,  is  a  very  attractive  and 
accomplished  young  lady,  but " 

''Oh,  don't,  please,  go  through  the  'buts,'"  said 
Mrs.  Fountain  Avith  a  shrug  of  despair.  "  I  don't 
know  what's  to  become  of  us  all — I  don't  indeed. 
It   isn't   as   though   Laura    could    hold    her    tongue. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  To 

Since  we  came  back  I  can  see  her  father  in  her  all 
day  long.  I  had  a  talk  with  the  Bishop  yesterday," 
she  said  in  a  lower  voice,  looking  plaintively  at  her 
companion. 

He  bent  forward. 

"Oh!  he's  just  broken-hearted.  He  can  hardly 
bring  himself  to  speak  to  Alan  about  it  at  all.  Of 
course,  Alan  will  get  his  dispensation  for  the  mar- 
riage. They  can't  refuse  it  to  him  when  they  give 
it  to  so  many  others.  But!"  —  she  threw  up  her 
hands  —  "the  Bishop  asked  me  if  Laura  had  been 
really  baptized.  I  told  him  there  was  no  doubt  at  all 
about  it  —  though  it  was  a  very  near  thing.  But  her 
mother  did  insist  that  once.  And  it  appears  that  if 
she  hadn't " 

She  looked  interrogatively  at  the  priest. 

"The  marriage  could  not  have  taken  place,"  he 
said  slowly.  "  No  Catholic  priest  could  have  cele- 
brated it,  at  least.  There  would  have  been  a  diriment 
impediment." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Augustina  excitedly,  "  though 
I  wasn't  sure.  There  are  so  many  dispensations 
nowadays." 

"  Ah,  but  not  in  such  cases  as  that,"  said  the  priest, 
with  an  unconscious  sigh  that  rather  startled  his  com- 
panion. 

Then  with  a  sudden  movement  he  pounced  upon 


76  llELllEf  K  OF  BANNISDALE 

something  on  the  further  side  of  the  table,  nearly 
upsetting  the  tea-tray.     Augustina  exclaimed. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  humbly;  "it  was 
only  a  nasty  fly."  And  he  dropped  the  flattened 
creature  on  the  grass. 

Both  relapsed  into  a  melancholy  silence.  But 
several  times  during  the  course  of  it  Mrs.  Fountain 
looked  towards  her  companion  as  though  on  the  point 
of  saying  something  —  then  rebuked  herself  and  re- 
frained. 

But  when  the  priest  had  taken  his  leave,  and  Mrs. 
Fountain  was  left  alone  in  the  garden  with  the  flowers 
and  tbe  autumn  wind,  her  thoughts  were  painfully 
concerned  with  quite  another  part  of  the  episcopal 
conversation  from  that  which  she  had  reported  to 
Father  Bowles.  What  right  had  the  Bishop  or  any- 
one else  to  speak  of  "  stories "  about  Laura  ?  Of 
course,  the  dear  Bishop  had  been  very  kind  and  cau- 
tious. He  had  said  emphatically  that  he  did  not 
believe  the  stories  —  nor  that  other  report  that  Mr. 
Helbeck's  sudden  proposal  of  marriage  to  Miss  Foun- 
tain had  been  brought  about  by  his  chivalrous  wish 
to  protect  the  endangered  name  of  a  young  girl,  his 
guest,  to  whom  he  had  become  unwisely  attached. 

But  why  should  there  be  '^  stories,"  and  what  did 
it  all  mean  ? 

That    unlucky    Froswick    business  —  and    young 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  77 

Mason?  But  what  had  IMason  to  do  with  it  —  on 
that  occasion  ?  As  Augustina  understood,  he  had 
seen  the  chikl  off  from  Froswick  by  the  8.20  train  — 
and  there  was  an  end  of  hiui  in  tlie  matter.  As  for 
the  rest  of  that  adventure,  no  doubt  it  was  foolish  of 
Laura  to  sit  in  the  quarry  till  daylight,  instead  of 
going  to  the  inn ;  but  all  the  world  might  know  that 
she  took  a  carriage  at  Wryneck,  half-way  home,  about 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  left  it  at  the  top  gate 
of  the  park.  Why,  she  was  in  her  room  by  six,  or  a 
little  after ! 

What  on  earth  did  the  Bishop  mean?  Augustina 
fell  into  a  maze  of  rather  miserable  cogitation.  She 
recalled  her  brother's  manner  and  words  after  his 
return  from  the  station  on  the  night  of  the  expedition 

—  and  then  next  day,  the  news  !  —  and  Laura's  abrupt 
admission  :  "  I  met  him  in  the  garden,  Augustina,  and 

—  well !  we  soon  understood  each  other.  It  had  to 
come,  I  suppose  —  it  might  as  well  come  then.     But 

I  don't  wonder  it's  all  very  surprising  to  yon " 

And  then  such  a  wild  burst  of  tears  —  such  a  sudden 
gathering  of  the  stepmother  in  the  girl's  young  arms 

—  such  a  wrestle  wdth  feelings  to  which  the  bewil- 
dered Augustina  had  no  clue. 

Was  Alan  up  all  that  night  ?  Mrs.  Denton  had 
said  something  of  the  sort.  Was  he  really  making 
up  his  mind  to  propose  —  because  people  might  talk  ? 


78  UELBECK  OF  liANNISDALE 

But  why  ? —  liow  ridiculuiis!  Certainly  it  must  have 
been  very  sudden.  Mrs.  Denton  met  them  coming  up- 
stairs a  little  after  six  ;  and  Alan  told  her  then. 

"Oh,  if  1  only  could  understand  it,"  thought  Augus- 
tina,  with  a  little  moan.  "And  now  Alan  just  lives 
and  breathes  for  her.  And  she  will  be  here,  in  my 
mother's  place  —  Stephen's  daughter." 

Mrs.  Fountain  felt  the  burning  of  a  strange  jeal- 
ousy. Her  vanity  and  her  heart  were  alike  sore. 
She  remembered  how  she  had  trembled  before  Alan 
in  his  strict  youth  —  how  she  had  apostatised  even, 
merely  to  escape  the  demands  which  the  intensity  of 
Alan's  faith  made  on  all  about  him.  And  now  this 
little  chit  of  twenty,  her  own  stepdaughter,  might  do 
and  say  what  she  pleased.  She  would  be  mistress  of 
Alan,  and  of  the  old  house.  Alan's  sister  might  creep 
into  a  corner,  and  pray ! —  that  Avas  enough  for  her. 

And  yet  she  loved  Laura,  and  clung  to  her !  She 
felt  the  humiliation  of  her  secret  troubles  and  envie^. 
Her  only  comfort  lay  in  her  recovered  faith ;  in  the 
rosary  to  which  her  hands  turned  perpetually ;  in  her 
fortnightly  confession  ;  in  her  visits  to  the  sacrament. 
The  great  Catholic  tradition  beat  through  her  meagre 
life,  as  the  whole  Atlantic  may  run  pulsing  through 
a  drifting  weed. 

Meanwhile,  near  the  entrance  gate  of  the  park,  on 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  79 

a  wooded  knoll  that  overlooked  tlie  park  wall  and 
commanded  the  road  beyond,  Laura  Fountain  was 
sitting  with  the  dogs  —  waiting  for  Helbeck. 

He  had  been  at  Whinthorpe  all  day,  on  some  busi- 
ness in  which  she  was  specially  interested.  The 
Eomney  lady  was  not  yet  sold.  During  May  and 
June,  Laura  had  often  wondered  why  she  still 
lingered  on  the  wall.  An  offer  had  actually  been 
made  —  so  Augustina  said.  And  there  was  pressing 
need  for  the  money  that  it  represented  —  that,  every 
sojourner  in  Bannisdale  must  know.  And  yet,  there 
still  she  hung. 

Then,  with  the  first  day  of  her  engagement,  Laura 
knew  why.  ''  You  saved  her,"  said  Helbeck.  "  Since 
that  evening  when  you  denounced  me  for  selling  her 
—  little  termagant!  —  I  have  racked  my  brains  to 
keep  her." 

And  now  for  some  time  there  had  been  negotiations 
going  on  between  Helbeck  and  a  land  agent  in  Whin- 
thorpe for  the  sale  of  an  outlying  piece  of  Bannisdale 
laud,  to  which  the  growth  of  a  little  watering-place  on 
the  estuary  had  given  of  late  a  new  value.  Helbeck, 
in  general  a  singularly  absent  and  ineffective  man  of 
business,  had  thrown  himself  into  the  matter  with  an 
astonishing  energy,  had  pressed  his  price,  hurried  his 
solicitoi;^,  and  begged  the  patience  of  the  nuns  —  who 
were  still  sleeping  in  doorways  and  praying  for  new 
buildings  —  till  all  should  be  complete. 


80  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

That  afternoon  he  had  ridden  over  to  Whinthorpe 
in  the  hopes  of  signing  the  contract.  He  did  not  yet 
know —  so  Laura  gathered — with  whom  he  was  really 
treating.  The  Whinthorpe  agent  had  talked  vaguely 
of  "  a  Manchester  gentleman,"  and  Helbeck  had  not 
troubled  himself  to  inquire  further. 

AVlien  they  were  married,  would  he  still  sell  all  that 
he  had,  and  give  to  the  poor  —  in  the  shape  of  orphan- 
ages and  reformatories?  Laura  was  almost  as  un- 
practical, and  cared  quite  as  little  about  money,  as  he. 
But  her  heart  yearned  towards  the  old  house ;  and  she 
already  dreamt  of  making  it  beautiful  and  habitable 
again.  As  a  woman,  too,  she  was  more  alive  to  the 
habitual  discomforts  of  the  household  than  Helbeck 
.  himself.  Mrs.  Denton  at  least  should  go !  So  much 
he  had  already  promised  her.  The  girl  thought  with 
joy  of  that  dismissal,  tightening  her  small  lips.  Oh ! 
the  tyranny  of  those  perpetual  grumblings  and  par- 
simonies, of  those  sour  unfriendly  looks !  Economy 
—  yes  !  But  it  should  be  a  seemly,  a  smiling  economy 
in  future  —  one  still  compatible  with  a  little  elegance, 
a  little  dignity. 

Laura  liked  to  think  of  her  own  three  hundred 
a  year ;  liked  to  feel  it  of  importance  in  the  narrow 
lot  of  this  impoverished  estate.  To  a  rich  bride- 
groom it  would  have  been  a  trifle  for  contempt. 
To  Helbeck  and  herself  —  though   she   scarcely   be- 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  81 

lieved  that  lie  had  realised  as  yet  that  she  pos- 
sessed a  farthing !  —  it  would  mean  just  escix-pe 
from  penury ;  a  few  more  fires  and  servants  and 
travellings ;  enough  to  ease  his  life  from  that  hard 
strain  that  had  tugged  at  it  so  long.  For  her 
money  should  not  go  to  nuns  or  Jesuits !  —  she 
would  protect  it  zealously,  and  not  for  her  own 
sake. 

.  .  .  Oh !  those  days  by  the  sea !  Those  were 
days  for  remembering.  That  tall  form  always  be- 
side her  —  those  eyes  so  grey  and  kind  —  so  fiery- 
kind,  often!  —  revealing  to  her  day  by  day  more 
of  the  man,  learning  a  new  language  for  her  alone, 
in  all  the  world,  a  language  that  coidd  set  her 
trembling,  that  could  draw  her  to  him,  in  a  humility 
that  was  strange  and  difficult,  yet  pure  joy!  —  her 
hand  slipping  into  his,  her  look  sinking  beneath 
his,  almost  with  an  appeal  to  love  to  let  her  be. 
Then  —  nothing  but  the  sparkling  sands  and  the 
white-edged  waves  for  company!  A  little  pleasant 
chat  with  Augustina;  duty  walks  with  her  bath 
chair  along  the  sea-wall ;  strolls  in  the  summer 
dusk,  while  Mrs.  Eountain,  wrapped  in  her  many 
shawls,  watched  them  from  the  balcony ;  their  day 
had  known  no  other  events,  no  other  disturbance 
than  these. 

As  far  as  things  external  were  concerned.  —  Else, 

VOL.   II.  — G 


82  IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

each  word,  each  look  made  history.  And  though 
lie  had  not  talked  iiiucli  to  her  of  his  religion,  his 
Catholic  friends  and  schemes,  all  that  ho  had  said 
on  these  things  she  had  l)een  ready  to  take  into 
a  softened  heart.  His  mystic's  practice  and  belief 
wore  still  their  grand  air  for  her  —  that  aspect  of 
power  and  mystery  which  had  in  fact  borne  so 
large  a  part  in  the  winning  of  her  imagination, 
the  subduing  of  her  will.  She  did  not  want  then 
to  know  too  much.  She  wished  tlie  mystery  still 
kept  up.  And  he,  on  his  side,  had  made  it  plain 
to  her  that  he  would  not  attempt  to  disturb  her 
inherited  ideas  —  so  long  as  she  herself  did  not  ask 
for  the  teaching  and  initiation  that  could  only, 
according  to  his  own  deepest  conviction,  bear  fruit 
in  the  willing  and  prepared  mind. 

But  now —  They  were  at  Bannisdale  again,  and 
he  was  once  more  Helbeck  of  Bannisdale,  a  man 
sixteen  years  older  than  she,  wound  round  with 
the  habits  and  friendship  and  ideals  Avhich  had 
been  the  slow  and  firm  deposit  of  those  years  — 
habits  and  ideals  which  were  not  hers,  which  were 
at  the  opposite  pole  from  hers,  of  which  she  still 
only  dimly  guessed  the  motives  and  foundations. 

"Helbeck  of  Bannisdale."  Her  new  relation  to 
him,  brought  back  into  the  old  conditions,  revealed 
to  her  day  by  day  fresh  meanings  and  connotations 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  83 

of  the  name.  And  the  okl  revolts,  under  different, 
perhaps  more  poignant  forms,  were  already   strong. 

AYhat  time  this  religion  took!  Apart  from  the 
daily  Mass,  which  drew  him  always  to  Whinthorpe 
before  breakfast,  there  were  the  morning  and  evening 
prayers,  the  visits  to  the  Sacrament,  the  two  Masses 
on  Sunday  morning,  Rosary  and  Benediction  in  the 
evening,  and  the  many  occasional  services  for  the 
marking  of  Saints'-days  or  other  festivals.  Not  to 
speak  of  all  the  business  that  fell  upon  him  as  the 
chief  Catholic  layman  of  a  large  district. 

And  it  seemed  to  her  that  since  their  return  home 
he  was  more  strict,  more  rigorous  than  ever  in  points 
of  observance.  She  noticed  that  not  only  was  Fri- 
day a  fast-day,  but  Wednesday  also  was  an  ''  absti- 
nence "  day ;  that  he  looked  with  disquiet  upon  the 
books  and  magazines  that  Avere  often  sent  her  by  the 
Friedlands,  and  would  sometimes  gently  beg  her  — 
for  the  Sisters'  sake  —  to  put  them  out  of  sight; 
that  on  the  subject  of  balls  and  theatres  he  spoke 
sometimes  with  a  severity  no  member  of  the  Metro- 
politan Tabernacle  could  have  outdone.  What  was 
that  phrase  he  had  dropped  once  as  to  being  "un- 
der a  rule  "  ?  What  was  ''  The  Third  Order  of  St. 
Francis  "  ?  She  had  seen  a  book  of  "  Constitutions  " 
in  his  study;  and  a  printed  card  of  devout  recom- 
mendations   to   "Tertiaries   of    the    Northern    Prov- 


84  HELBECK  OE  BANNISDALE 

iuce  "  hung  beside  his  table.  She  half  thirsted,  half 
dreaded,  to  know  precisely  what  these  things  meant  to 
him.  But  he  was  silent,  and  she  shrank  from  asking. 
Was  he  all  the  more  rigid  with  himself  on  the  re- 
ligious side  of  late,  because  of  that  inevitable  scan- 
dal which  his  engagement  had  given  to  his  Catholic 
friends  —  perhaps  because  of  his  own  knowledge  of 
the  weakening  effects  of  passion  on  the  will  ?  For 
Laura's  imagination  was  singularly  free  and  cool 
where  the  important  matters  of  her  own  life  were 
concerned.  She  often  guessed  that  but  for  the  sud- 
den emotion  of  that  miserable  night,  and  their  strange 
meeting  in  the  dawn,  he  might  have  succeeded  in 
driving  down  and  subduing  his  love  for  her  —  might 
have  proved  himself  in  that,  as  in  all  other  matters, 
a  good  Catholic  to  the  end.  That  she  should  have 
brought  him  to  her  feet  in  spite  of  all  trammels  was 
food  for  a  natural  and  secret  exultation.  But  now 
that  the  first  exquisite  days  of  love  were  over,  the 
trammels,  the  forgotten  trammels,  were  all  there 
again  —  for  the  fretting  of  her  patience.  That  his 
mind  was  often  disturbed,  his  cheerfulness  overcast, 
that  his  letters  gave  him  frequently  more  pain  than 
pleasure,  and  that  a  certain  inward  unrest  m'ade  his 
dealings  with  himself  more  stern,  and  his  manner 
to  those  around  him  less  attractive  than-  before, — 
these   things   were   constantly   plain    to   Laura.     As 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  85 

she  dwelt  upon  them,  they  carried  flame  and  poison 
through  the  girl's  secret  mind.  For  they  were  the 
evidences  of  forces  and  influences  not  hers  —  forces 
that  warred  with  hers,  and  must  always  war  with 
hers.  Passion  on  her  side  began  to  put  forward  a 
hundred  new  and  jealous  claims ;  and  at  the  touch 
of  resistance  in  him,  her  own  will  steeled. 

As  to  the  Catholic  friends,  surely  she  had  done 
her  best !  She  had  called  with  Augustina  on  the 
Reverend  Mother  and  Sister  Angela  —  a  cold,  em- 
barrassed visit.  She  had  tried  to  be  civil  whenever 
they  came  to  the  house.  She  had  borne  with  the 
dubious  congratulations  of  Father  Bowles.  She  had 
never  once  asked  to  see  any  portion  of  that  corre- 
spondence which  Helbeck  had  been  carrying  on  for 
weeks  with  Father  Leadham,  persuaded  though  she 
was,  from  its  effects  on  Helbeck's  moods  and  actions, 
that  it  was  wholly  concerned  with  their  engagement, 
and  with  the  problems  and  difliculties  it  presented 
from  the  Catholic  point  of  view. 

She  was  preparing  even  to  welcome  with  polite- 
ness that  young  Jesuit  who  had  neglected  his  dying 
mother,  against  whom  —  on  the  stories  she  had  heard 
—  her  whole  inner  nature  cried  out.  .  .  . 

The  sound  of  a  horse  aj)proaching.  Up  sprang 
the  dogs,  and  she  with  them. 


86  HELBECK   OF  liANNISDALE 

Helbeck  waved  liis  hand  to  lier  as  he  came  over 
the  bridge.  Then  at  the  gate  he  disniountetl,  seeing 
"Wilson  in  the  drive,  and  gave  his  horse  to  the  old 
bailiff. 

"Cross  the  bridge  with  me,"  he  said,  as  he  joined 
her,  "  and  let  us  walk  home  the  other  side  of  the  river. 
Is  it  too  far  ?  » 

His  eyes  searched  her  face  —  with  the  eagerness  of 
one  who  has  found  absence  a  burden.  She  shook  her 
head  and  smiled.  The  little  frown  that  had  been 
marring  the  youth  of  her  pretty  brow  smoothed  itself 
away.  She  tripped  beside  him,  feeling  the  contagion 
of  his  joy  —  inwardly  repentant  —  and  very  happy. 

But  he  was  tired  and  disappointed  by  the  day's  re- 
sult. The  contract  was  not  signed.  His  solicitor  had 
been  summoned  in  haste  to  make  the  will  of  a  neigh- 
bouring magnate;  some  of  the  last  formalities  of  his 
own  business  had  been  left  imcompleted ;  and  in  short 
the  matter  was  postponed  for  at  least  a  day  or  two. 

"I  wish  it  was  done,"  he  said,  sighing  —  and  Laura 
could  only  feel  that  the  responsibilities  and  anxieties 
weighing  upon  him  seemed  to  press  with  unusual 
strength. 

A  rosy  evening  stole  upon  them  as  they  walked 
along  the  Greet.  The  glow  caught  the  grey  walls 
of  the  house  on  the  further  bank  —  lit  up  the 
reaches  of  the  stream  —  and  the  bare  branch  work  of 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  87 

a  great  ruined  tree  in  front  of  them.  Long  lines  of 
heavy  wood  closed  the  horizon  on  either  hand,  shut- 
ting in  the  house,  the  river,  and  their  two  figures. 

"How  solitary  we  are  here!"  he  said,  suddenly 
looking  round  him.  "  Oh  !  Laura,  can  you  be  happy 
—  with  poverty  —  and  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  shan't  read  my  prayer-book  along  the 
river! — and  I  shan't  embroider  curtains  for  the  best 
bedroom  —  alack !  Perhaps  a  new  piano  might  keep 
me  quiet  —  I  don't  know  !  " 

He  looked  at  her,  then  quickly  withdrew  his  eyes, 
as  though  they  offended.  Through  his  mind  had  run 
the  sacred  thought,  '^  Her  children  will  hll  her  life  — 
and  mine ! " 

"  When  am  I  to  teach  you  Latin  ?  "  he  said,  laugh- 
ing. 

She  raised  her  shoulders. 

"  I  wouldn't  learn  it  if  I  could  do  without  it !  Biit 
you  Catholics  are  bred  upon  it." 

"  We  are  the  children  of  the  Church,"  he  said 
gently.     ''  And  it  is  her  tongue." 

She  made  no  answer,  and  he  talked  of  something 
else  immediately.  As  they  crossed  the  little  foot- 
bridge he  drew  her  attention  to  the  deep  pool  on  the 
further  side,  above  which  was  built  the  wooden  plat- 
form, where  Laura  had  held  her  May  tryst  with 
Mason. 


88  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

*'I)id  I  t'VL'i-  lell  yoti  tlie  story  of  my  great-grand- 
fatlier  drowning  in  that  pool  ?" 

''What,  the  drinking  and  gambling  gentleman?" 

"  Yes,  poor  wretch !  He  had  half  killed  his  wife, 
and  mined  the  property  —  so  it  was  time.  He  was 
otter  hunting  —  there  is  an  otter  hole  still,  half-way 
down  that  bank.  Somehow  or  other  he  came  to  the 
top  of  the  crag  alone,  probably  not  sober.  The  river 
was  in  flood ;  and  his  poor  wife,  sitting  on  one  of  those 
rock  seats  with  her  needlework  and  her  books,  heard 
the  shouts  of  the  huntsmen  —  helped  to  draw  him  cut 
and  to  carry  him  home.  Do  you  see  that  little  beach  ?  " 
—  he  pointed  to  a  break  in  the  rocky  bank.  "It  was 
there  —  so  tradition  says  —  that  he  lay  upon  her  knee, 
she  wailing  over  him.  And  in  three  months  she  too 
was  gone." 

Laura  turned  awa3^ 

"  I  won't  think  of  it,"  she  said  obstinately.  "  I  will 
only  think  of  her  as  she  is  in  the  picture." 

On  the  little  platform  she  paused,  with  her  hand  on 
the  railing,  the  dark  water  eddying  below  her,  the  crag 
above  her. 

"  I  could  —  tell  you  something  about  this  place," 
she  said  slowly.     ''  Do  you  want  to  hear  ?  " 

She  bent  over  the  water.  He  stood  beside  her.  The 
solitude  of  the  spot,  the  deep  shadow  of  the  crag,  gave 
love  freedom. 


IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  89 

He  drew  her  to  him. 

"  Dear  !  —  confess  !  " 

She  too  whispered  : 

"  It  was  here  —  I  saw  Hubert  Mason  —  that  night." 

'<■  Culprit !  Repeat  every  word  —  and  I  will  deter- 
mine the  penance." 

''  As  if  there  had  not  been  already  too  much  !  Oh  ! 
what  a  lecture  you  read  me  — and  you  have  never 
apologised  yet !     Begin  —  hegin  —  at  once  !  " 

He  raised  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  So  ?    Now  —  courage  !  " 

And  with  some  difficulty  —  half  laughing  —  she  de- 
scribed the  scene  with  Hubert,  her  rush  home,  her 
meeting  with  old  Scarsbrook. 

"  I  tell  you,"  she  insisted  at  the  end,  "  there  is  good 
in  that  boy  somewhere  —  there  is!" 

Helbeck  said  nothing. 

"  But  you  always  saw  the  worst,"  she  added,  look- 
ing up. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  only  saw  what  there  was,"  he  said 
dryly.  ''Dear,  it  gets  cold,  and  that  white  frock  is 
very  thin." 

They  walked  on.  In  truth,  he  could  hardly  bear 
that  she  should  take  Mason's  name  upon  her  lips  at 
all.  The  thoughts  and  comments  of  ill-natured  per- 
sons, of  some  of  his  own  friends  —  the  sort  of  mis- 
giving that  had  found  expression  in  the  Bishop's  talk 


90  UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

witli  liis  sister  —  he  Avas  perfectly  aware  of  tliem  all, 
impossible  as  it  would  liave  been  for  Angustina  or 
anyone  else  to  say  a  word  to  liini  on  the  subject. 
The  dignity  no  less  than  the  passion  ox  a  strong  man 
was  deeply  concerned.  He  repentf;d  and  humbled 
himself  every  day  for  his  own  passing  doubts;  but 
his  resolution  only  stiifened  the  more.  There  was  no 
room,  there  should  never  be  any  room  in  Laura's 
future  life,  for  any  further  contact  with  the  Mason 
family. 

And,  indeed,  the  Mason  family  itself  seemed  to 
have  arrived  at  very  similar  conclusions !  All  that 
Helbeck  knew  of  them  since  the  Froswick  day  might 
have  been  summed  u})  in  a  fcAv  sentences.  On  the 
Sunday  morning  Mason,  in  a  wild  state,  with  wet 
clothes  and  bloodshot  eyes,  had  presented  himself 
at  the  Wilsons'  cottage,  asking  for  news  of  Miss 
Fountain.  They  told  him  that  she  Avas  safely  at 
home,  and  he  departed.  As  far  as  Helbeck  knew,  he 
had  spent  the  rest  of  the  Sunday  drinking  heavily  at 
Marsland.  Since  then  Laura  had  received  one  in- 
solent letter  from  him,  reiterating  his  OAvn  passion  for 
her,  attacking  Helbeck  in  the  fiercest  terms,  aiul 
prophesying  that  she  Avould  soon  be  tired  of  her  lover 
and  her  bargain.  Laura  had  placed  the  letter  in 
Helbeck's  hands,  and  Helbeck  had  replied  by  a  curt 
note  through  his  solicitor,  to  the  effect  that  if  any 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  91 

further  annoyance  were  offered  to  Miss  Fountain  he 
would  know  how  to  protect  her. 

Mrs.  Mason  also  had  written.  Madwoman !  She 
forbade  her  cousin  to  visit  the  farm  again,  or  to  hold 
any  communication  with  Polly  or  herself.  A  girl, 
born  of  a  decent  stock,  who  was  capable  of  such  an 
act  as  marrying  a  Papist  and  idolater  was  not  fit  to 
cross  the  thresliold  of  Christian  people.  Mrs.  Mason 
left  her  to  the  mercy  of  her  offended  God. 

And  in  this  matter  of  her  cousins  Laura  was  not 
unwilling  to  be  governed.  It  was  as  though  she  liked 
to  feel  the  curb. 

And  to-night  as  they  strolled  homewards,  hand 
locked  in  hand,  all  her  secret  reserves  and  suspicions 
dropped  away  —  silenced  or  soothed.  Her  charming 
head  drooped  a  little  ;  her  whole  small  self  seemed 
to  shrink  towards  him  as  though  she  felt  the  spell  of 
that  mere  physical  maturity  and  strength  that  moved 
beside  her  youth.  Their  walk  was  all  sweetness;  and 
both  would  have  prolonged  it  but  that  Augustina  had 
been  left  too  long  alone. 

She  was  no  longer  in  the  garden,  however,  and  they 
went  in  by  the  chapel  entrance,  seeking  for  her. 

''Let  me  just  get  my  letters,"  said  Helbeck,  and 
Laura  followed  him  to  his  study. 

The  afternoon  post  lay  upon  his  writing-table.     He 


92  JIELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

opened  the  first,  read  it,  and  liandcd  it  with  a  look  of 
hesitation  to  Laura. 

"  Dear,  Mr.  Williams  comes  to-morroAv.  They  have 
given  him  a  fortnight's  holiday,  lie  has  had  a  sharp 
attack  of  illness  and  depression,  and  wants  change. 
Will  you  feel  it  too  long  ?  " 

Involuntarily  her  look  darkened.  She  put  down 
the  letter  without  reading  it. 

"  Why  —  I  want  to  see  him  !  I  —  I  shall  make  a 
study  of  him,"  she  said  with  some  constraint. 

But  by  this  time  Helbeck  was  half  through  the  con- 
tents of  his  next  envelope.  She  heard  an  exclama- 
tion of  disgust,  and  he  threw  down  what  he  held  with 
vehemence. 

"  One  can  trust  nobody  ! "  he  said  —  "  nobody ! " 

He  began  to  pace  the  floor  with  angry  energy,  his 
hands  thrust  into  his  pockets.  She  —  in  astonish- 
ment —  threw  him  questions  which  he  hardly  seemed 
to  hear.     Suddenly  he  paused. 

"■  Dear  Laura !  —  will  you  forgive  me  ?  —  but  after 
all  I  must  sell  that  picture ! " 

"Why?" 

"  I  hear  to-day,  for  the  first  time,  who  is  to  be  the 
real  purchaser  of  that  land,  and  why  it  is  wanted.  It 
is  to  be  the  site  of  a  new  Anglican  church  and  vicar- 
age. I  have  been  tricked  throughout  —  tricked  —  and 
deceived !     But   thank   God  it  is  not  too  late !     The 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  93 

circumstances  of  this  afternoon  were  providential. 
There  is  still  time  for  me  to  write  to  ^^^linthorpe." 
He  glanced  at  the  clock.  "  And  my  lawyers  may 
tear  up  the  contract  when  they  please!" 

"And  —  that  means — you  will  sell  the  Romney  ?" 
said  Laura  slowly. 

"I  must!  Dear  little  one!" — he  came  to  stoop 
over  her  —  "I  am  most  truly  grieved.  But  I  am 
bound  to  my  orphans  by  all  possible  engagements  — 
both  of  honour  and  conscience." 

"AVliy  is  it  so  horrible  that  an  Anglican  church 
should  be  built  on  your  land?"  she  said,  slightly 
holding  him  away  from  her. 

"  Because  I  am  responsible  for  the  use  of  my  land, 
as  for  any  other  talent.  It  shall  not  be  used  for  the 
spread  of  heresy." 

"  Are  there  any  Catholics  near  it  ?  " 
"Not  that  I  know  of.  But  it  has  been  a  fixed  prin- 
ciple with  me  throughout  my  life  "  —  he  spoke  with  a 
firm  and,  as  she  thought,  a  haughty  decision  —  '*to 
give  no  help,  direct  or  indirect,  to  a  schismatical  and 
rebellious  church.  I  see  now  why  there  has  been  so 
much  secrecy !  My  land  is  of  vital  importance  to 
them.  They  apparently  feel  that  the  whole  Anglican 
development  of  this  new  town  may  depend  upon  it. 
Let  them  feel  it.  They  shall  not  have  a  foot  —  not 
an  inch  of  what  belongs  to  me!" 


94  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

"Then  they  are  to  have  no  churcli,"  said  Laura. 
She  had  grown  (]uite  pale. 

"Not  on  my  hind,''  he  said,  with  a  violence  that 
first  amazed  and  tlu'ii  offended  her.  "  Let  them  find 
sympathisers  of  their  own.  They  have  filched  enough 
from  us  Catholics  in  the  past." 

And  he  resumed  his  rapid  walk,  his  face  darkened 
with  an  anger  he  vainly  tried  to  curb.  Never  had 
she  seen  him  so  roused. 

She  too  rose,  trembling  a  little. 

"  But  I  love  that  picture  ! "  she  said.  "  I  beg  you 
not  to  sell  it." 

He  stopped,  in  distress. 

"Unfortunately,  dear,  I  have  promised  the  money. 
It  must  be  found  within  six  weeks  —  and  I  see  no 
other  way." 

She  thought  that  he  spoke  stiffly,  and  she  resented 
the  small  effect  of  her  appeal. 

"And  you  won't  bend  a  single  prejudice  to  —  to 
save  such  a  family  possession — though  I  care  for 
it  so  much  ?  " 

He  came  up  to  her  with  outstretched  hands. 

"  I  have  been  trying  to  save  it  all  these  weeks ! 
Nothing  but  such  a  cause  as  this  could  have  stood 
in  the  way.  It  is  not  a  prejudice,  darling  —  believe 
me!  —  it  belongs,  for  me  at  any  rate,  to  Catholic 
obligation." 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  95 

She  took  no  notice  of  the  hands.  With  her  own 
she  clung  to  the  table  behind  her. 

"  Why  do  you  give  so  much  to  the  Sisters  ?  It 
is  not  right !     They  give  a  very  bad  education ! " 

He  stared  at  her.  How  pale  she  had  grown  — 
and  this  half-stifled  voice  ! 

''I  think  we  must  be  the  judges  of  that,"  he  said, 
dropping  his  hands.  "We  teach  what  we  hold  most 
important." 

"  Nobody  like  Sister  Angela  ought  to  teach  !  "  she 
cried  —  "you  give  money  to  bring  pupils  to  Sister 
Angela.  And  she  is  not  well  trained.  I  never  heard 
anyone  talk  so  ignorantly  as  she  does  to  Augustina. 
And  the  children  learn  nothing,  of  course  —  every- 
one says  so." 

"  And  you  are  so  eager  to  listen  to  them  ?  "  he 
said,  with  sparkling  eyes.  Then  he  controlled 
himself. 

"  But  that  is  not  the  point.  I  humbly  admit  our 
teaching  is  not  nearly  so  good  as  it  might  be  if  we 
had  larger  funds  to  spend  upon  it.  But  the  point 
is  that  I  have  promised  the  money,  and  that  a  num- 
ber of  arrangements  —  fresh  teachers  among  them  — 
are  already  dependent  on  it.  Dearest,  won't  you 
recognise  my  difficulties,  and  —  and  help  me  through 
them  ?  " 

"  You   make    them    yourself,"    she    said,   drawing 


[)6  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

back.  "  There  would  be  none  if  you  did  not  —  liate 
—  your  fellow-citizens." 

"I  hate  no  one  —  but  I  cannot  aid  and  abet  the 
English  Church.  That  is  impossible  to  nio.  Laura!" 
Ho  observed  her  carefully.  "I  don't  understand. 
Why  do  you  say  these  things  ?  —  why  does  it  hurt 
you  so  much  ?  " 

"  Oh !  let  me  go,"  she  cried,  flinging  his  hand  away 
from  her.     "  Let  me  go !  " 

And  before  he  could  stop  her,  she  had  fled  to  the 
door,  and  disappeared. 

Helbeck  and  Augustina  ate  a  lonely  dinner. 

*'  You  must  have  taken  Laura  too  far  this  after- 
noon, Alan,"  said  Mrs.  Fountain  fretfully.  ''  She 
says  she  is  too  tired  to  come  down  again  to-night  — 
so  very  unlike  her  !  " 

"  She  did  not  complain  —  but  it  may  have  been 
a  long  round,"  said  her  companion. 

After  dinner,  Helbeck  took  his  pipe  into  the  gar- 
den, and  walked  for  long  up  and  down  the  bowling- 
green,  torn  with  solitary  thought.  He  had  put  up 
his  pipe,  and  was  beginning  di-earily  to  feel  the 
necessity  of  going  back  to  his  study,  and  applying 
himself  —  if  he  could  force  his  will  so  far  —  to  soine 
official  business  that  lay  waiting  for  him  there,  when 
a  light  noise  on  the  gravel  caught  his  ear. 


HELBECE    OF  BANNISBALE  97 

His  heart  leapt. 

"  Laura ! " 

She  stopped  —  a  white  wraith  in  the  light  mist  that 
filled  the  garden.  He  went  up  to  her  overwhelmed 
with  the  joy  of  her  coming  —  accusing  himself  of  a 
hundred  faults. 

She  was  too  miserable  to  resist  him.  The  storm  of 
feeling  through  which  she  had  passed  had  exhausted 
her  wholly ;  and  the  pining  for  his  step  and  voice  had 
become  an  anguish  driving  her  to  him. 

"  I  told  you  to  make  me  afraid ! "  she  said  mourn- 
fully, as  she  found  herself  once  more  upon  his  breast 
— "  but  you  can't !  There  is  something  in  me  that 
fears  nothing  —  not  even  the  breaking  of  both  our 
hearts." 

VOL.   11.  — H 


CHAPTER   II 

A  WEEK  later  the  Jesuit  scholastic  Edward  Williams 
arrived  at  Bannisdale. 

In  Laura  his  coming  roused  a  curiosity  half  angry, 
half  feminine,  by  which  Helbeck  was  alternately 
harassed  and  amused.  She  never  tired  of  asking 
questions  about  the  Jesuits — their  training,  their 
rules,  their  occupations.  She  could  not  remember 
that  she  had  ever  seen  one  till  she  made  acquaintance 
with  Father  Leadham.  They  were  alternately  a 
mystery  and  a  repulsion  to  her. 

Helbeck  smilingly  told  her  that  she  was  no  worse 
than  the  mass  of  English  people.  "They  have  set  up 
their  bogey  and  they  like  it."  She  would  be  surprised 
to  find  how  simple  was  the  Jesuit  secret. 

"  What  is  it  ?  —  in  two  words  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  Obedience  —  training.  So  little  !  "  he  laughed  at 
her,  and  took  her  hand  tenderly. 

She  inquired  if  Mr.  Williams  were  yet  "  a  full 
Jesuit." 

"  Oh  dear  no  !  He  has  taken  his  first  vows.  Now 
he  has  three  years'  philosophy,  then  four  years'  the- 

98 


IIELBECK  OF  BAN  N I  SB  ALE  99 

ology.  After  that  they  will  make  him  tenc^  some- 
where. Then  he  will  take  orders  —  go  through  a 
third  year's  noviceship  —  get  a  doctor's  degree,  if  he 
can  —  and  after  that,  perhaps,  he  will  be  a  professed 
'  Father.'  It  isn't  done  just  by  wishing  for  it,  you 
see." 

The  spirit  of  opposition  reared  its  head.  She 
coloured,  laughed  —  and  half  without  intending  it 
repeated  some  of  the  caustic  things  she  had  heard 
occasionally  from  her  father  or  his  friends  as  to  the 
learning  of  Jesuits.  Helbeck,  under  his  lover's  sweet- 
ness, showed  a  certain  restlessness.  He  hardly  let 
himself  think  the  thought  that  Stephen  Fountain 
had  been  quoted  to  him  very  often  of  late;  but  it 
was  there. 

"I  am  no  judge,"  he  said  at  last.  "I  am  not 
learned.  I  dare  say  you  will  find  Williams  ignorant 
enough.     But  he  was  a  clever  boy  —  besides  his  art." 

''  And  they  have  made  him  give  up  his  art  ?  " 

"  For  a  time  —  yes  —  perhaps  altogether.  Of  course 
it  has  been  his  great  renunciation.  His  superiors 
thought  it  necessary  to  cut  him  off  from  it  entirely. 
And  no  doubt  during  the  novitiate  he  suffered  a  great 
deal.     It  has  been  like  any  other  sWved  faculty." 

The  girl's  instincts  rose  in  revolt.  She  cried  out 
against  such  waste,  such  mutilation.  The  Catholic 
tried  to  appease  her-,  but  in  another  language.     He 


100  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

bade  her  remember  the  Jesuit  motto.  "  A  Jesuit  is 
like  any  other  soldier  —  he  puts  himself  under  orders 
for  a  purpose." 

"  And  God  is  to  be  glorified  by  the  crushing  out  of 
all  He  took  the  trouble  to  give  you ! " 

"  You  must  take  the  means  to  tlie  end,"  said  Hel- 
beck  steadily.  "  The  Jesuit  must  yield  his  will  — 
otherwise  the  Society  need  not  exist.  In  Williams's 
case,  so  long  as  he  had  a  fascinating  and  absorbing 
pursuit,  how  could  he  give  himself  up  to  his  supe- 
riors ?  Besides"  —  his  grave  face  stiffened  —  "in 
his  case  there  were  peculiar  difficulties.  His  art  had 
become  a  temptation.  He  wished  to  protect  himself 
from  it." 

Laura's  curiosity  was  roused ;  but  Helbeck  gently 
put  her  questions  aside,  and  at  last  she  said  in  a  flash 
of  something  like  passion  that  she  wondered  which 
the  young  man  had  felt  most  —  the  trampling  on  his 
art,  or  the  forsaking  his  mother. 

Helbeck  looked  at  her  with  sudden  animation. 

"  I  kncAv  you  had  heard  that  story.  Dear  —  he  did 
not  forsake  his  mother!  He  meant  to  go  —  the 
Fathers  had  given  him  leave.  But  there  was  a  mis- 
take, a  miscalculation  —  and  he  arrived  too  late." 

Laura's  beautiful  eyes  threw  lightnings. 

"A  miscalculation  !  "  she  cried  scornfully,  her  quick 
breath  beating  —  "  That  puts  it  in  a  nutshell." 


HELBECE  OF  BANNISDALE  101 

Helbeck  looked  at  her  sadly.  • 

"  So  you  are  going  to  be  very  unkind  to  him  ?  " 

"No.     I  shall  watch  him." 

"  Look  into  him  rather !  Try  and  make  out  his 
spring.     I  will  help  you." 

She  protested  that  there  was  nothing  she  less 
desired.  She  had  been  reading  some  Jesuit  biog- 
raphies from  Augustina's  room,  and  they  had  made 
her  feel  that  the  only  thing  to  be  done  with  such 
people  was  to  keep  them  at  a  distance. 

Helbeck  sighed  and  gave  up  the  conversation. 
Then  in  a  moment,  compunctions  and  softenings  be- 
gan to  creep  over  the  girl's  face.  A  small  hand  made 
its  way  to  his. 

"  There  is  Wilson  in  the  garden  —  shall  we  go  and 
talk  to  him  ?  " 

They  were  in  Helbeck's  study  —  where  Augustina 
had  left  them  alone  for  a  little  after  luncheon. 

Helbeck  put  down  his  pipe  with  alacrity.  Laura 
ran  for  her  hat  and  cape,  and  they  went  out  together. 

A  number  of  small  improvements  both  inside  and 
outside  the  house  had  been  recently  inaugurated  to 
please  the  coming  bride.  Already  Helbeck  realised 
—  and  not  without  a  secret  chafing  —  the  restraints 
that  would  soon  be  laid  upon  the  almsgiving  of  Ban- 
nisdale.  A  man  who  marries,  who  may  have  chil- 
dren, can  no  longer  deal  with  his  money  as  he  pleases. 


102  IIELliECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

Meanwhile  he  found  liis  reward  in  Laura's  half-reluc- 
tant pleasure.  She  was  at  once  full  of  eagerness  and 
full  of  a  proud  shyness.  Xo  bride  less  grasping  or 
more  sensitive  could  have  been  imagined.  She  loved 
the  old  house  and  would  fain  repair  its  hurts.  But 
her  wild  nature,  at  the  moment,  asked,  in  this  at  least, 
to  be  comnuimled,  not  to  command.  To  be  the  man- 
aging wife  of  an  obedient  husband  was  the  last  thing 
that  her  imagination  coveted.  So  that  when  any 
change  in  the  garden,  any  repair  in  the  house,  was  in 
progress,  she  would  hover  round  Helbeck,  half  cold, 
half  eager,  now  only  showing  a  fraction  of  her  mind, 
and  now  flashing  out  into  a  word  or  look  that  for 
Helbeck  turned  the  whole  business  into  pure  joy. 
Day  by  day,  indeed,  amid  all  jars  and  misgivings, 
the  once  solitary  master  of  Bannisdale  was  becoming 
better  acquainted  with  that  mere  pleasantness  of  a 
woman's  company  Avhich  is  not  passion,  but  its  best 
friend.  In  the  case  of  those  women  whom  nature 
marks  for  love,  it  is  a  company  full  of  incident,  full 
of  surprise.     Certainly  Helbeck  found  it  so. 

A  week  or  more  had  now  passed  since  the  quarrel 
over  the  picture.  Not  a  word  upon  the  subject  had 
passed  between  them  since.  As  for  Laura,  she  took 
pains  not  to  look  at  the  picture  —  to  forget  its  exist- 
ence. It  was  as  though  she  felt  some  hidden  link 
between  herself  and  it  —  as  though  some  superstitious 
feeling  attached  to  it  in  her  mind. 


HE L BECK  OF  BANNISDALE  103 

Meanwhile  a  ninnber  of  new  understandings  were 
developing  in  Helbeck.  His  own  nature  was  simple 
and  concentrated,  Avith  little  introspective  power  of 
the  modern  kind  —  even  through  all  the  passions  and 
subtleties  of  his  religion.  Nevertheless  his  lover's 
sense  revealed  to  him  a  good  deal  of  Avhat  was  going 
on  in  the  semi-darkness  of  Laura's  feelings  and  ideas. 
He, divined  this  jealousy  of  his  religious  life  that  had 
taken  possession  of  her  since  their  return  from  the 
sea.  He  felt  by  sympathy  that  obscure  jjain  of  sepa- 
ration that  tormented  her.  What  was  he  to  do?  — 
what  could  he  do  ? 

The  change  astonished  him,  for  while  they  were  at 
the  sea,  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  had  accepted  the 
situation  with  a  remarkable  resolution.  But  it  also 
set  him  on  new  trains  of  thought ;  it  roused  in  him 
a  secret  excitement,  a  vague  hope.  If  her  earlier 
mood  had  persisted;  if  amid  the  joys  of  their  love 
she  had  continued  to  put  the  whole  religious  matter 
away  from  her,  as  many  a  girl  with  her  training  might 
and  would  have  done  —  then  indeed  he  must  have 
resigned  himself  to  a  life-long  difference  and  silence 
between  them  on  these  vital  things. 

But,  since  she  suffered  —  since  she  felt  the  need  of 
that  more  intimate,  more  exquisite  link  —  ?  Since 
she  could  not  let  it  alone,  but  must  needs  wound 
herself  and  him ? 


104  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

Instinctively  lie  felt  the  weakness  of  her  intel- 
lectual defence.  Once  or  twice  he  let  himself  imagine 
the  capture  of  her  little  struggling  soul,  the  break- 
down of  her  childish  resistance,  and  felt  the  flooding 
of  a  joy,  at  once  mystical  and  very  human. 

But  that  natural  chivalry  and  deep  self-distrust  he 
had  once  expressed  to  Father  Leadham  kept  him  in 
check ;  made  him  very  slow  and  scrupulous.  Towards 
his  Catholic  friends  indeed  lie  stood  all  along  in 
defence  of  Laura,  an  attitude  which  only  made  him 
more  sensitive  and  more  vulnerable  in  other  direc- 
tions. 

Meanwhile  his  own  struggles  and  discomforts  were 
not  few.  No  strong  man  of  Helbeck's  type  endures 
so  complete  an  overthrow  at  the  hands  of  impulse  and 
circumstance  as  he  had  done,  without  going  afterwards 
through  a  period  of  painful  readjustment.  The  new 
image  of  himself  that  he  saw  reflected  in  the  aston- 
ished eyes  of  his  Catholic  companions  worked  in  him 
a  number  of  fresh  forms  of  self-torment.  His  loyalty 
to  Laura,  indeed,  and  to  his  own  passion  was  com- 
plete. Secretly,  he  had  come  to  believe,  with  all  the 
obstinate  ardor  of  the  religious  mind,  that  the  train 
of  events  which  had  first  brought  Laura  into  his  life, 
and  had  then  overcome  his  own  resistance  to  her 
spell,  represented,  not  ter^ptation,  but  a  Divine  voli- 
tion concerning  him.     'No  one  so  impoverished  and 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  105 

forlorn  as  she  in  the  matters  of  the  soul !  But  not 
of  her  own  doing.  Was  she  responsible  for  her 
father  ?  In  the  mere  fact  that  she  had  so  incredibly 
come  to  love  him  —  he  being  what  he  was  —  there 
was  surely  a  significance  which  the  Catholic  was  free 
to  interpret  in  the  Catholic  sense.  So  that,  where 
others  saw  defection  from  a  high  ideal  and  danger  to 
his  own  Catholic  position,  he,  with  hidden  passion, 
and  very  few  words  of  explanation  even  to  his  direc- 
tor, Father  Leadham,  felt  the  drawing  of  a  heavenly 
force,  the  promise  of  an  ultimate  and  joyful  issue. 

At  the  same  time,  the  sadness  of  his  Catholic  friends 
shoidd  find  no  other  pretext.  Upon  his  fidelity  now 
and  here,  not  only  his  own  eternal  fate,  but  Laura's, 
might  depend.  Devotion  to  the  crucified  Lord  and 
His  Mother,  obedience  to  His  Church,  imitation  of 
His  saints,  charity  to  His  poor  —  these  are  the  means 
by  which  the  Catholic  draws  down  the  grace,  the  con- 
descension that  he  seeks.  He  felt  his  own  life  offered 
for  hers.  So  that  the  more  he  loved  her,  the  more 
set,  the  more  rigid  became  all  the  habits  and  pur- 
poses of  religion.  Again  and  again  he  was  tempted  to 
soften  them — to  spend  time  with  her  that  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  give  to  Catholic  practice  —  to  slacken 
or  modify  the  harshness  of  that  life  of  self-renounce- 
ment, solitude,  unpopularity,  to  which  he  had  vowed 
himself   for   years  —  to   conceal  from    her   the  more 


106  IIKLBECK   OF  liANNISBALE 

startling  and  diftieult  of  his  convictions.  But  lie 
crushed  the  temptation,  guided,  inflamed  by  that 
profound  idea  of  a  substituted  life  and  a  vicarious 
obedience  which  has  been  among  the  root  forces  of 
Christianity. 

One  evening,  as  she  was  dressing  for  the  very 
simple  meal  that  only  Mrs.  Denton  dignified  by  the 
name  of  "  dinner,"  Laura  reminded  herself  that 
Mr.  Williams  must  have  arrived,  and  that  she  would 
probably  find  him  in  the  hall  on  her  descent. 

It  happened  to  be  the  moment  for  donning  a  new 
dress,  which  she  had  ordered  from  a  local  artist.  She 
had  no  mind  to  exhibit  it  to  the  Jesuit.  On  the  other 
hand  the  temptation  to  show  it  to  Helbeck  was  irre- 
sistible.    She  put  it  on. 

When  she  entered  the  hall,  her  feelings  of  dislike  to 
Mr.  Williams,  and  her  pride  in  her  new  dress,  had 
both  combined  to  give  her  colour  and  radiance.  Hel- 
beck saw  her  come  in  with  a  start  of  pleasure. 
Augustina  fidgeted  uncomfortably.  She  thought 
that  Laura  might  have  dressed  in  something  more 
quiet  and  retiring  to  meet  a  guest  who  was  a  reli- 
gious, almost  a  priest. 

Helbeck  introduced  the  newcomer.  Laura's  quick 
eyes  travelled  over  the  young  man  who  bowed  to  her 
with   a   cold   awkwardness.      She   turned   aside   and 


UELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  107 

seated  herself  in  a  corner  of  the  settle,  whither  Hel- 
beck  came  to  bend  over  her. 

''  What  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself  ? "  he 
asked  her  in  a  low  voice.  At  the  moment  of  her 
entrance  she  had  thought  him  pale  and  fatigued. 
He  had  been  half  over  the  countr^^  that  day  on 
Catholic  business.  But  now  his  deep-set  eyes  shone 
again.     He  had  thrown  off  the  load. 

"Experimenting  with  a  Whinthorpe  dressmaker," 
she  said ;  "  do  you  approve  ?  " 

Her  smile,  her  brilliance  in  her  pretty  dress,  intoxi- 
cated him.  He  murmured  some  lover's  words  under 
his  breath.  She  flushed  a  little  deeper,  then  exerted 
herself  to  keep  him  by  her.  Till  supper  was  an- 
nounced they  had  not  a  Avord  or  look  for  anyone  but 
each  other.  The  young  "scholastic"  talked  cere- 
moniously to  Augustina. 

"  ^Vho  talks  of  Jesuit  tyranny  now  ? "  said  Hel- 
beck,  laughing,  as  he  and  Laura  led  the  way  to  the 
dining-room.  "  If  it  is  not  too  much  for  him,  Will- 
iams has  leave  to  finish  some  of  his  work  in  the 
chapel  while  he  is  here.  But  he  looks  very  ill  — 
don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

She  understood  the  implied  appeal  to  her  sympathy. 

"  He  is  extraordinarily  handsome,"  she  said,  with 
decision. 

At  table,  however,  she  came  to  terms  more  exactly 


108  IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

-with  her  impression.  The  face  of  the  young  Jesuit 
■was  indeed,  in  some  ways,  singularly  handsome. 
The  round,  dark  eyes,  the  features  delicate  without 
weakness,  the  high  brow  narrowed  by  the  thick  and 
curl}^  hair  that  overhung  it,  the  small  chin  and  curv- 
ing mouth,  kept  still  something  of  the  look  and  the 
bloom  of  the  child — a  look  that  was  only  intensified 
by  the  strange  force  of  expression  that  was  added 
to  the  face  whenever  the  lids  so  constantly  dropped 
over  the  eyes  were  raised.  For  one  saw  in  it  a 
mingling  at  once  of  sharp  observation  and  of  dis- 
trust ;  it  seemed  to  spring  from  some  fiery  source  of 
personality,  which  at  the  very  moment  it  revealed 
itself,  yet  warned  the  spectator  back,  and  stood,  half 
proudly,  half  sullenly,  on  the  defensive.  Such  a 
look  one  may  often  see  in  the  eyes  of  a  poetic  and 
morbid  child. 

But  the  whole  aspect  was  neither  delicate  nor 
poetic.  For  the  beauty  of  the  head  was  curiously 
and  unexpectedly  contradicted  by  the  clumsiness  of 
the  frame  below  it.  "Brother"  Williams  might  have 
the  head  of  a  poet;  he  had  the  form  and  move- 
ments, the  large  feet  and  shambling  gait,  of  the  peas- 
ant. And  Laura,  scanning  him  with  some  closeness, 
noticed  with  distaste  a  good  many  signs  of  personal 
slovenliness  and  ill-breeding.  His  hands  were  not 
as  clean  as  they  might  have  been;  his  clerical  coat 
badly  wanted  a  brushing. 


UELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  109 

His  talk  to  Augustina  could  hardly  have  been  more 
formal.  In  speakiug  to  ladies  he  seldom  raised  his 
eyes ;  and  as  far  as  she  herself  was  concerned  Laura 
was  certain,  before  half  an  hour  was  over,  that  he 
meant  to  address  her  and  to  be  addressed  by  her,  as 
little  as  possible. 

Towards  Helbeck  the  visitor's  manner  was  more 
natural  and  more  attractive.  It  was  a  manner  of 
affection,  and  great  deference ;  but  even  here  the 
occasional  bursts  of  conversation  into  which  the 
Squire  drew  his  guest  were  constantly  interrupted 
by  fits  of  silence  o"  absence  on  tlia  part  of  the 
scholastic. 

Perhaps  the  subject  on  which  they  talked  most 
easily  was  that  of  Jesiiit  Missions — especially  of 
certain  West  African  stations.  Helbeck  had  some 
old  friends  there;  and  Laura  thought  she  detected 
that  the  young  scholastic  had  himself  missionary 
ambitions. 

Augustina  too  joined  in  with  eagerness ;  Laura  fell 
silent. 

But  she  watched  Helbeck,  she  listened  to  Helbeck 
throughout.  How  full  his  mind  and  heart  were  of 
matters,  persons,  causes,  that  must  for  ever  represent 
a  sealed  world  to  her!  The  eagerness,  the  know- 
ledge with  which  he  discussed  them,  roused  in  her 
that  jealous,  half-desolate  sense  that  was  becoming 
an  habitual  tone  of  mind. 


IIU  IIKLUFJ'K   OF  llAXXISDALE 

And  some  things  offended  licv  taste.  Helbock 
showed  most  animation,  and  the  young  Jesuit  nu)st 
response,  whenever  it  was  a  question  not  so  much  of 
('atholic  triumphs,  as  of  Protestant  rebuifs.  The 
follies,  mistakes,  and  defeats  of  Anglican  missions  in 
particular — Helbeck's  memory  was  stored  with  them, 
liy  his  own  confession  he  had  made  a  Jesnit  friend 
departing  for  the  mission,  promise  to  toll  him  any 
funny  or  discreditable  tales  that  could  be  gathered 
as  to  their  Anglican  rivals  in  the  same  region.  And 
while  he  repeated  them  for  Williams's  amusement,  he 
laughed  immoderately  —  he  who  laughed  so  seldom. 
The  Jesuit  too  was  convulsed  —  threw  off  all  restraint 
for  the  first  time. 

The  girl  Hushed  brightly,  and  began  to  play  with 
Bruno.  Years  ago  she  remembered  hearing  her 
father  say  approvingly  of  Helbeck's  manner  and 
bearing  that  they  were  those  "Of  a  man  of  rank, 
though  not  of  a  man  of  fashion  ;  "*  and  it  was  hardly 
possible  to  say  how  much  of  Helbeck's  first  effect  on 
her  imagination  had  been  produced  by  that  proud 
uuworldliness,  that  gently  cold  courtesy  in  which  he 
was  commonly  wrapped.  These  silly  pointless  stories 
that  he  had  been  telling  with  such  relish  disturbed 
and  repelled  her.  They  revealed  a  new  element  in 
his  character,  something  small  and  ugly,  that  was 
like    the    speck   in  a  fine  fruit,   or,   rather,  like   the 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  111 

disclosure  of  au  angry  sore  beneath  an  outward  health 
and  strength. 

She  recalled  the  incident  of  the  land,  and  that 
cold  isolation  in  which  Helbeck  held  himself  towards 
his  Protestant  neighbours  —  the  passionate  animosity 
with  which  he  would  sometimes  speak  of  their  chari- 
ties or  their  pietisms,  the  contempt  he  had  for  almost 
all  their  ideals,  national  or  social.  Again  and  again, 
in  the  early  days  at  Bannisdale,  it  had  ruffled  or 
provoked  her. 

Helbeck  soon  perceived  that  she  was  jarred.  When 
she  called  to  Bruno  he  checked  his  flow  of  anecdote, 
and  said  to  her  in  a  lower  voice : 

"  You  think  us  uncharitable  ?  " 

She  looked  up  —  but  rather  at  the  Jesuit  than  at 
Helbeck. 

^'  IsTo  —  only  it  is  not  amusing !  If  Augustina  or  I 
could  speak  for  the  other  side  —  that  would  be  more 
fun ! " 

"  Laura !  "  cried  Augustina,  scandalised. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  wouldn't,  if  you  could,"  said  the 
girl  gayly.  "  And  I  can't.  So  there  it  is.  One  can't 
stop  you,  I  suppose  !  " 

She  threw  back  her  bright  head  and  turned  to 
Helbeck.  The  action  was  pretty  and  coquettish ; 
but  there  was  a  touch  of  fever  in  it,  nevertheless, 
which  did  not  escape  the  stranger  sitting  opposite  to 


112  UELBECK   OF  BAXNISDALE 

her.  Brother  Williams  raised  his  down-dropped  lids 
an  instant.  Those  brilliant  eyes  of  his  took  in 
the  girl's  beauty  and  the  change  in  Helbeck's 
countenance. 

**  You  shall  stop  what  you  like,"  said  Helbeck. 
A  mute  conversation  seemed  to  pass  between  him 
and  Miss  Fovmtain  ;  then  the  Squire  turned  to  his 
sister,  and  asked  her  cheerfully  as  to  the  merits  of 
a  new  pony  that  she  and  Laura  had  been  trying 
that   afternoon. 

After  dinner  Helbeck,  much  troubled  by  the 
pinched  features  and  pale  cheeks  of  his  guest,  de- 
scended himself  to  the  cellar  in  search  of  a  par- 
ticular Burgundy  laid  down  by  his  father  and  reputed 
to  possess  a  rare  medicinal  force. 

Mr.  Williams  was  left  standing  before  the  hearth, 
and  the  famous  carved  mantelpiece  put  up  by  the 
martyr  of  1596.  As  soon  as  Helbeck  was  gone  he 
looked  carefully  —  furtively  —  round  the  room.  It 
was  the  look  of  the  peasant  appraising  a  world  not 
his. 

A  noise  made  by  the  wind  at  one  of  the  old  win- 
dows disturbed  him.  He  looked  i;p  and  was  caught 
by  a  photograph  that  had  been  propped  against  one 
of  the  vases  of  the  mantelpiece.  It  was  a  picture  — 
recently    taken  —  of    Miss   Fountain    sitting   on   the 


SELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  113 

settle  in  the  hall  with  the  dogs  beside  her.  And  it 
rendered  the  half-mocking  animation  of  her  small 
face  Avith  a  peculiar  fidelity. 

The  young  man  was  conscious  of  a  strong  move- 
ment of  repulsion.  Mr.  Helbeck's  engagement  had 
sent  a  thrill  of  pain  through  a  large  section  of  the 
Catholic  world ;  and  the  Jesuit  had  already  divined  a 
hostile  force  in  the  small  and  brilliant  creature  whose 
eyes  had  scanned  him  so  coldly  as  she  sat  beside  the 
Squire.  He  fell  into  a  reverie,  and  took  one  or  two 
turns  up  and  down  the  room. 

''  Shall  I  ?  "  he  said  to  himself  in  an  excitement 
that  was  half  vanity,  half  religion. 

Half  an  hour  later  Laura  was  in  the  oriel  window 
of  the  drawing-room,  looking  out  through  the  open 
casement  at  the  rising  of  a  golden  moon  above  the 
fell.     Her  mind  was  full  of  confusion. 

"  Is  he  never  to  be  free  to  say  what  he  thinks  and 
feels  iu  his  own  house  ?  "  she  asked  herself  passion- 
ately. ^'  Or  am  I  to  sit  by  and  see  him  sink  to  the 
level  of  these  bigots  ?  " 

Augustina  was  upstairs,  and  Laura,  absorbed  in  her 
own  thoughts  and  the  night  loveliness  of  the  garden, 
did  not  hear  Helbeck  and  Mr.  Williams  enter  the 
room,  which  was  as  usual  but  dimly  lighted.  Sud- 
denly she  caught  the  words  : 

VOL.    II.  I 


114  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

"So  you  still  keep  her?  That's  good !  One  couhl 
not  imagine  this  room  without  her." 

The  voice  was  the  voice  of  the  Jesuit,  but  in  a  new 
tone  —  more  eager,  more  sincere.  AVhat  were  they 
talking  of  ?  —  the  picture  ?  And  she,  Laura,  of  course 
was  hidden  from  them  by  the  heavy  curtain  half 
draAvn  across  the  oriel.  She  could  not  help  waiting 
for  Helbeck's  reply. 

'^Ahl — you  remember  how  she  was  threatened 
even  when  you  first  began  to  come  here !  I  have 
clung  to  her,  of  course  —  there  has  always  been  a 
strong  feeling  abo^it  her  in  the  fainily.  Last  week  I 
thought  again  that  she  must  go.  But  —  well !  it  is 
too  soon  to  speak  —  I  still  have  some  hopes  — I  have 
been  straining  every  nerve.  You  know,  however,  that 
we  must  begin  our  new  buildings  at  the  orphanage  in 
six  weeks  —  and  that  I  must  have  the  money  ?  " 

He  spoke  with  his  usual  simplicity.  Lanra  dropped 
her  head  upon  the  window-sill,  and  the  tears  rushed 
into  her  eyes. 

"  I  know  —  we  all  know  —  what  yon  have  done  and 
sacrificed  for  the  faith,"  said  the  younger  man  with 
emotion. 

"  Yoxi  will  not  venture  to  make  a  merit  of  it,"  said 
Helbeck  gravely.  ''For  we  serve  the  same  ends  — 
only  you  perceive  them  more  clearly  —  and  follow 
them  more  persistently  than  I." 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  115 

'^  I  have  stronger  aids  —  and  shall  have  to  answer 
for  more!"  said  Williams,  in  a  low  voice.  ''And  I 
owe  it  all  to  you  —  my  friend  and  rescuer." 

"You  use  a  great  deal  too  strong  language,"  said 
Helbeck,  smiling. 

Williams  threw  him  an  uncertain  look.  The 
colour  mounted  in  the  young  man's  sickly  cheek. 
He  approached  the  Squire. 

"  Mr.  Helbeck  —  I  know  from  something  a  common 
friend  told  me  —  that  you  think  —  that  you  have  said 
to  others  —  that  my  conversion  was  not  your  doing. 
You  are  mistaken.  I  should  like  to  tell  you  the  truth. 
May  I  ?  " 

Helbeck  looked  uncomfortable,  but  was  not  ready 
enough  to  stave  off  the  impending  confidence. 
Williams  fixed  him  with  eyes  now  fully  lifted,  and 
piercingly  bright. 

"  You  said  little  —  that  is  quite  true.  But  it  was 
what  you  did,  what  I  saw  as  I  Avorked  here  beside  you 
week  after  week  that  conquered  me.  Do  you  remem- 
ber once  rebuking  me  in  anger  because  I  had  made 
some  mistake  in  the  chapel  work  ?  You  were  very 
angry  —  and  I  was  cut  to  the  heart.  That  very  night 
you  came  to  me,  as  I  was  still  working,  and  asked  my 
pardon  —  you!  Mr.  Helbeck  of  Bannisdale,  and  I,  a 
boy  of  sixteen,  the  son  of  the  wheelwright  who 
mended  your  farm  carts.     You  made  me  kneel  down 


IIG  llELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

beside  you  on  the  steps  of  the   sanctuary  —  and  wo 
said  the  Confiteor  together.     Don't  say  you  forget  it !  " 

Plelbeck  hesitated,  then  spoke  with  evident  unwill- 
ingness. 

"You  make  a  great  deal  of  nothing,  my  dear  Ed- 
ward. T  had  treated  you  to  one  of  the  Helbeck  rages, 
I  suppose  —  and  had  the  grace  to  be  ashamed  of  my- 
self." 

."It  made  me  a  Catholic,"  said  the  other  emphati- 
cally, "  so  I  naturally  dwell  upon  it.  Next  day  I 
stole  a  'Garden  of  the  Soul'  and  a  book  of  medita- 
tions from  your  study.  Then,  on  the  pretext  of  the 
work,  I  used  to  make  you  tell  me  or  read  me  tiie 
stories  of  the  saints  —  later,  I  often  used  to  follow 
you  in  the  morning  when  you  went  to  Mass.  I 
watched  you  day  by  day,  till  the  sense  of  something 
supernatural  possessed  me.  Tlien  you  noticed  my 
coming  to  Mass  —  you  asked  Father  Bowles  to  speak 
to  me — you  seemed  to  shrink  —  or  I  thought  so  — 
from  speaking  yourself.  But  it  was  not  Father 
Bowles  —  it  was  not  my  first  teachers  at  St.  Aloysius 
—  it  was  you  —  who  brought  me  to  the  faith ! " 

"Well,  if  so,  I  thank  God.  But  I  think  your 
humility " 

"One  moment,"  said  the  Jesuit  hurriedly.  "There 
is  something  on  my  mind  to  say  to  you  —  if  I  might 
be  allowed  to  say  it  —  if  the  gratitude,  the  strong  and 


HE L BECK  OF  BANNISBALE  117 

filial  gratitiide,  which  I  feel  towards  you  —  for  that, 
and  much,  much  else,"  his  voice  shook,  "  might  be  my 
excuse "  ■    ^-    . 

Helbeck  was  silent.  Laura  to  her  dismay  heard  the 
sound  of  steps.  Mr.  Williams  had  walked  to  the  open 
door  of  the  drawing-room  and  closed  it.  What  w^as 
she  to  do  ?  Indecision  —  a  wilful  passion  of  curiosity 
—  held  her  where  she  was. 

It  was  some  moments,  however,  before  the  conver- 
sation was  resumed.  At  last  the  young  man  said  in 
a  tone  of  strong  agitation : 

"You  may  blame  me  —  my  superiors  may  blame  me. 
I  have  no  leave  —  no  commission  Avhatever.  The  im- 
pulse to  speak  came  to  me  when  I  was  waiting  for  you 
in  the  dining-room  just  now.  I  can  only  plead  your 
own  goodness  to  me  —  and — the  fact  that  I  have  re- 
membered you  before  the  Blessed  Sacrament  for  these 
eight  years.  ...  It  was  an  impression  at  meditation 
that  I  want  to  tell  you  of  —  an  impression  so  strong 
that  I  have  never  since  been  able  to  escape  from  it  — 
it  haunts  me  perpetually.  I  was  in  our  chapel  at  St. 
Aloysius.  The  subject  of  meditation  Avas  St.  John 
vii.  36, '  Every  man  w^ent  unto  his  own  house,'  followed 
immediately  by  the  first  words  of  the  eighth  chapter, 
'and  Jesus  went  unto  Mount  Olivet.'  ...  I  en- 
deavoured strictly  to  obey  the  advice  of  St.  Ignatius. 
I  placed   myself   at  the   feet  of   our   Lord.     I  went 


118  IIELBECK   OF  liANNISDALE 


tlirough  the  Preludes.     Tlicn  I  began  on  the  medita- 


tion. I  saw  the  multitude  returning  to  tlu'ir  homes 
and  their,  amusements  —  while  our  Lord  went  alone 
to  the  Mount  of  Olives.  It  was  evening.  The  path 
seemed  to  me  steep  and  weary  —  and  He  was  bent 
with  fatigue.  At  first  He  was  all  alone  —  darkness 
hung  over  the  hill  and  the  olive  gardens.  Then,  siul- 
dcnly,  [  became  aware  of  forms  that  followed  Him,  at 
a  long  distance  —  saints,  virgins,  martyrs,  confessors. 
They  swept  along  in  silence.  I  could  just  see  them 
as  a  dim  majestic  crowd.  Presently,  a  form  detached 
itself  from  the  crowd — -to  my  amazement,  I  saw  i/ou 
distinctly — there  seemed  to  be  a  special  light  upon 
your  face.  And  the  rest  appeared  to  fall  back.  Soon 
I  only  saw  the  Form  toiling  in  front,  and  you  follow- 
ing. Then  at  the  brow  of  the  hill  the  Lord  turned  — 
and  you,  who  were  half-Avay  up  the  last  steep,  paused 
also.  The  Lord  beckoned  to  3^ou.  His  Divine  face 
was  full  (jf  sweetness  and  encouragement  —  and  you 
made  a  spring  toAvards  Him.  Then  something  hap- 
pened —  something  horrible  —  but  I  could  hardly  see 
what.  But  a  figure  seemed  to  snatch  at  you  from  be- 
hind—  you  stumbled  —  then  you  fell  headlong.  A 
black  cloud  fell  from  the  sky  —  and  covered  you.  T 
heard  a  Availing  cry  —  I  saw  the  Lord's  face  darkened 
—  and  immediately  afterwards  the  train  of  saints 
swept  past  me  once  more,  Avith  bent  heads,  beating 


11  EL  BECK  OF  BANNISDALE  119 

their  breasts.  I  cannot  describe  the  extraordinar}^ 
vividness  of  it!  The  succession  of  thoughts  and 
images  never  paused;  and  when  I  woke,  or  seemed 
to  wake,  I  found  myself  bathed  in  sweat  and  nearly 
fainting." 

There  was  a  dead  silence. 

The  scholastic  began  again,  in  still  more  rapid  and 
troubled  tones,  to  excuse  himself.  Mr.  Helbeck  might 
well  think  it  presumption  on  his  part  to  have  repeated 
such  a  thing.  He  could  only  plead  a  strange  pressure 
on  his  conscience  —  a  sense  of  obligation.  The  fact 
was  probably  nothing  —  meant  nothing.  But  if  ca- 
lamity came  —  if  it  meant  calamity  —  and  he  had  not 
delivered  his  message  —  would  there  not  have  been  a 
burden  on  his  soul  ? 

Suddenly  there  was  a  sound.  The  handle  of  the 
drawing-room  turned. 

"A^liy,  you  are  dark  in  here!"  said  Augustina. 
"  AYhat  a  wretched  light  that  lamp  gives  ! " 

At  the  same  moment  the  heavy  curtain  over  the 
oriel  window  was  drawn  to  one  side,  and  a  light  figure 
entered  the  room. 

The  Jesuit  made  a  step  backwards.  "  Laura ! " 
cried  Helbeck  in  bewilderment.  "Where  have  you 
come  from  ?  " 

"  I  was  in  the  window  watching  the  moon  rise. 
Didn't  you  know  ?  " 


120  IlELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

She  walked  up  to  him,  and  without  hesitation  she 
did  what  she  had  never  yet  done  before  a  spectator : 
she  slipped  her  little  hand  into  his.  He  looked  down 
upon  her,  rather  pale,  his  lii)s  jnoving.  Then  with- 
drawing his  hand,  he  quietly  and  proudly  put  his  arm 
round  her.  She  accepted  the  movement  with  equal 
pride,  and  without  a  word. 

Augustina  looked  at  them  with  discomfort  — 
coughed,  fumbled  with  her  spectacles,  and  began  to 
hunt  for  her  knitting.  The  Jesuit,  whiter  and  sicklier 
than  before,  murmured  that  he  would  go  and  rest 
after  his  journey,  and  with  eyes  steadily  cast  down 
he  walked  away. 

"  I  don't  wonder  !  "  thought  Augustina,  in  an  inward 
heat;  "they  really  are  too  demonstrative  !  " 

That  night  for  the  first  time  since  her  arrival  at 
Bannisdale,  Laura,  instead  of  saying  good-night  as 
soon  as  the  clock  reached  a  quarter  to  ten,  quietly 
walked  beside  Augustina  to  the  chapel. 

She  knelt  at  some  distance  from  Helbeck.  But 
when  the  prayers,  which  were  read  by  Mr.  Williams, 
were  over,  and  the  tiny  congregation  was  leaving  the 
chapel,  she  felt  herself  drawn  back.  Helbeck  did  not 
speak,  but  in  the  darkness  of  the  corridor  he  raised 
her  hands  and  held  them  long  against  his  lips.  She 
quickly  escaped  from  him,  and  Avithout  another  word 
to  anyone  she  was  gone. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  121 

But  an  hour  or  two  later,  as  slie  lay  wakeful  in  lier 
room  above  the  study,  she  still  heard  the  sound  of 
continuous  voices  from  below. 

Helbeck  and  the  scholastic !  —  plunged  once  more 
in  that  common  stock  of  recollections  and  interests  in 
which  she  had  no  part,  linked  and  reconciled  through 
all  difference  by  that  Catholic  freemasonry  of  which 
she  kiiew  nothing.  The  impertinent  zeal  of  the  even- 
ing—  the  young  man's  ill  manners  and  hypocrisies  — 
would  be  soon  forgiven.  In  some  ways  Mr.  Helbeck 
was  more  Jesuit  than  the  Jesuits.  He  would  not  only 
excuse  the  audacity  —  was  she  quite  sure  that  in  his 
inmost  heart  he  would  not  shrink  before  the  warning  ? 

"  What  chance  have  I  ? "  she  cried,  in  a  sudden 
despair ;  and  she  wept  long  and  miserably,  oppressed 
by  new  terrors,  new  glimpses,  as  it  Avere,  of  some  hard 
or  chilling  reality  that  lay  Avaiting  for  her  in  the  dim 
corridors  of  life. 

Next  morning  after  breakfast,  Helbeck  and  Mr. 
"Williams  disappeared.  A  light  scaffolding  had  been 
placed  in  the  chapel.     Work  Avas  to  begin. 

Laura  put  on  her  hat,  took  a  basket,  and  Avent  into 
the  garden  to  gather  fresh  floAvers  for  the  house. 
Along  the  edges  of  the  boAvling-green  stood  roAvs  of 
sunflowers,  a  golden  sIioav  against  the  deep  bronze  of 
the   thick   beech    hedges   that    enclosed  the   ground. 


122  IlELBECK   OF  liAXXTStDALE 

Laura  was  trying,  without  much  success,  to  reach  souie 
of  the  top  blossoms  of  a  tall  plant  when  Ilelbeck  came 
upon  her. 

"Be  as  independent  as  you  please,"  he  said 
laughing,  "  but  you  will  never  be  able  to  gather  sun- 
flowers without  me  ! " 

In  a  moment  her  basket  was  filled.  He  looked  down 
upon  her. 

"  You  should  live  here  — in  the  bowling-green.  It 
frames  you  —  your  white  hat  —  your  grey  dress. 
Laura  !  "  —  his  voice  leapt —  "  do  I  do  enough  to  make 
you  happy  ?  " 

She  flushed — turned  her  little  face,  and  smiled  at 
him — but  rather  sadly,  rather  pensively.  Then  she 
examined  him  in  her  turn.  He  looked  jaded  and 
tired.  From  want  of  sleep  ?  —  or  merely  from  the 
daily  fatigue  of  that  long  walk,  foodless,  to  Whin- 
thorpe  for  early  Mass  ?  That  morning,  as  usual,  by 
seven  o'clock  she  had  seen  him  crossing  the  park.  A 
cheerless  rain  was  falling  from  a  grey  sky.  But  she 
had  never  yet  known  him  stopped  by  weather. 

There  was  a  quick  association  of  ideas  —  and  she 
said  abruptly : 

"Why  did  Mr.  Williams  say  all  that  to  you  last 
night,  do  you  suppose  ?  " 

Helbeck's  countenance  changed.  He  sauntered  on 
beside  her.  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  frowning.  But 
he  did  not  reply,  and  slic  l);H'amc  impatient. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  128 

"I  have  been  reading  a  French  story  this  morning," 
she  said  qnickl}'.  "There  is  a  character  in  it  —  a 
priest.  The  anthor  says  of  him  that  he  had  '  nne  im- 
agination fausse  et  troublee.' "  She  paused,  then 
added  with  great  vivacity  —  "I  thought  it  applied  to 
someone  else  —  don't  you  ?  " 

The  fold  in  Helbeck's  forehead  deepened  a  little. 

"Have  you  judged  him  already  ?  I  don't  know  — 
I  can't  take  Williams,  you  see,  quite  as  you  take  him. 
To  me  he  is  still  the  strange  gifted  boy  I  taught  to  draw 

—  whom  I  had  to  protect  from  his  brutal  father.  He 
has  chosen  the  higher  life,  and  will  soon  be  a  priest. 
He  is  therefore  my  superior.  But  at  the  same  time  I 
think  I  understand  him  and  his  character.  I  under- 
stand the  kind  of  impulse  —  the  impetuosity  —  that 
made  him  do  and  say  what  he  did  last  night." 

"  It  was  our  engagement,   of  course,  that  he  meant 

—  by  your  fall  —  the  black  cloud  that  covered  you  ?  " 
The  impetuous  directness  was  all  Laura ;  so  was  the 

sensitive  change  in  eye  and  lip.  But  Helbeck  neither 
wavered,  nor  caressed  her.  He  had  a  better  instinct. 
He  looked  at  her  with  a  penetrating  glance. 

"  I  don't  think  he  quite  knew  what  he  meant.  And 
you?  Now  I  will  carry  the  war  into  the  enemy's 
country  !  Were  you  quite  kind  —  quite  right  in  doing 
what  you  did  last  night?  Foolish  or  no,  he  was 
speaking  in  a  very  intimate  way  —  of  things  that  he 


124  IIELBEVK  OF  BANNISDALE 

felt  dee})ly.  It  must  have  given  him  great  paiu  to  be 
overheard." 

Her  breath  fluttered. 

"  It  was  quite  an  accident  that  I  was  there.  But  how 
could  i  help  listening?  I  must  know  —  I  ought  to 
know —  what  your  Catholic  friends  think  —  what  they 
say  of  nie  to  you  !  " 

She  was  conscious  of  a  childish  petulance.  But  it 
was  as  though  she  could  not  help  herself. 

"I  wish  you  had  not  listened,"  he  said,  with  gentle 
steadiness.     "  Won't  you  trust  those  things  to  me  ?  " 

"  What  poAver  have  I  beside  theirs  ? "  she  said, 
turning  away  her  head.  He  saw  the  trembling  of  the 
soft  throat,  and  bent  over  her. 

"  I  only  ask  you,  for  both  our  sakes,  not  to  test  it 
too  far ! " 

And  taking  her  hand  by  force,  he  crushed  it  passion- 
ately in  his  own. 

But  she  was  only  half  appeased.  Her  mind,  indeed, 
was  in  that  miserable  state  when  love  finds  its  only 
pleasure  in  self-torment. 

With  a  secret  change  of  ground  she  asked  him  how 
he  was  going  to  spend  the  day.  He  answered,  reluc- 
tantly, that  there  was  a  Diocesan  Committee  that 
would  take  the  afternoon,  and  that  the  morning  must 
be  largely  given  to  the  preparation  of  papers. 

''But  you  Avill  come  and  look  in  upon  me? — you 
will  help  me  through  ?  " 


HE L BECK  OF  BANNISDALE  125 

She  raised  her  shoulders  resentfully. 

"  And  you  have  been  to  Whinthorpe  already  !  — 
Why  do  you  go  to  Mass  every  morning  ?  "  she  asked, 
looking  up.  "  I  know  very  few  Catholics  do.  I  wish 
you'd  tell  me." 

He  looked  embarrassed. 

"It  has  been  my  custom  for  a  long  time,"  he  said  at 
last. 

"  But  why  ?  " 

"  Inquisitive  person ! " 

Her  look  of  pain  checked  him.  He  observed  her 
rather  sadly  and  silently  for  a  moment,  tlien  said  : 

"I  will  tell  you,  dear,  of  course,  if  you  want  to 
know.  It  is  one  of  the  obligations  of  the  Third  Order 
of  St.  Francis,  to  which  I  belong." 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  " 

He  shortly  explained.  She  cross-examined.  He 
was  forced  to  describe  to  her  in  detail  all  the  main 
constitutions  of  the  Third  Order ;  its  obligations  as  to 
fasting,  attendance  at  Mass,  and  at  the  special  meet- 
ings of  the  fraternity ;  its  prescriptions  of  a  rigid 
simplicity  in  life  and  dress;  its  prohibition  of  theatre- 
going. 

She  stood  amazed.  All  her  old  notions  of  Catholics 
as  gay  people,  who  practised  a  free  Sunday  and 
allowed  you  to  enjoy  yourself,  had  been  long  over- 
thrown by  the  Catholicism  of  Bannisdale.  But  this 
—  this  might  be  Daifady's  Methodism! 


12G  HELBECK  OF  liANNISDALE 

"  So  tluit  is  why  you  would  not  take  us  to  Wliiu- 
lihorpe  the  other  day  to  see  that  London  company  ?  " 

"  It  was  an  unsuitable  play,"  he  said  hastily. 
*'  Theatres  are  not  wholly  forbidden  us ;  but  the  excep- 
tions must  be  few,  and  the  plays  such  as  a  Catholic 
can  see  without  harm  to  his  conscience." 

"  l^ut  I  love  acting !  "  she  cried,  almost  with  a  sense 
of  suffocation.  "  Whenever  I  could,  I  got  papa  to 
take  me  to  the  play.     I  shall  always  want  to  go." 

"  There  will  be  nothing  to  prevent  you." 

"  So  that  anything  is  good  enough  for  those  who 
are  not  tertiaries !  "  she  cried,  confronting  him. 

Her  cheeks  burned.  Had  there  been  any  touch  of 
spiritual  arrogance  in  his  tone  ? 

"  I  think  I  shall  not  answer  that,"  he  said,  after  a 
pause. 

They  walked  on  —  she  blindly  holding  herself  as 
far  as  possible  from  him ;  he,  with  the  mingled  ardour 
and  maladroitness  of  his  character,  longing  and  not 
quite  venturing  to  cut  the  whole  coil,  and  silence  all 
this  mood  in  lier,  by  some  masterfulness  of  love. 

Suddenly  she  paused  —  she  stepped  to  him  —  she 
laid  her  fingers  on  his  arms  —  bright  tears  shone  in 
her  eyes. 

"  You  can't  —  you  can't  belong  to  that  —  when  we 
are  married  ?  " 

"  To  the  Third  Order  ?     But,  dear  !  —there  is  noth- 


II EL  HECK   OF  BANNISDALE  127 

iug  in  it  that  conflicts  with  mamecl  life!  It  was 
devised  specially  for  persons  living  in  the  world. 
You  would  not  have  nie  give  up  what  has  been  my 
lielp  and  salvation  for  ten  years  ?  " 

He  spoke  with  great  emotion.  8he  trembled  and 
hid  her  face  against  him. 

"Oh!  I  could  not  bear  it!"  she  said.  "Can't  you 
realise  how  it  Avould  divide  us  ?  I  should  feel  outside 
—  a  pariah.  As  it  is,  I  seem  to  have  nothing  to  do 
Avith  half  your  life  —  there  is  a  shut  door  between  me 
and  it." 

A  flash  of  natural,  of  wholly  irresistible  feeling 
passed  through  him.     He  stooped  and  kissed  her  hair. 

"  Open  the  door  and  come  in !  "  he  said  in  a  whisper 
that  seemed  to  rise  from  his  inmost  soul. 

She  shook  her  head.  They  were  both  silent.  The 
deep  shade  of  the  "  wilderness  "  trees  closed  them  in. 
There  was  a  gentle  melancholy  in  the  autumn  morn- 
ing. The  first  leaves  were  dropping  on  the  cobwebbed 
grass ;  and  the  clouds  were  low  upon  the  fells. 

Presently  Laura  raised  herself.  "  Promise  me  you 
will  never  press  me,"  she  said  passionately;  "don't 
send  anyone  to  me." 

He  sighed. 

"  I  promise." 


CHAPTER   III 

One  afternoon  towards  the  end  of  Mr.  Williams's 
visit,  Laura  was  walking  along  a  high  field-path  that 
overlooked  the  whole  valley  of  the  Flent.  Helbeck 
had  gone  to  meet  the  Bishop  on  some  urgent  busi- 
ness ;  but  the  name  of  his  Catholic  affairs  was 
legion. 

The  weather,  after  long  days  of  golden  mist,  of 
veiled  and  stealing  lights  on  stream  and  fell,  had 
turned  to  rain  and  tumult.  This  afternoon,  indeed, 
the  rain  had  made  a  sullen  pause.  It  had  drawn 
back  for  an  hour  or  two  from  the  drenched  valleys, 
even  from  the  high  peaks  that  stood  violet-black 
against  a  space  of  rainy  light.  Yet  still  the  sky 
was  full  of  anger.  The  clouds,  dark  and  jagged, 
rushed  across  the  marsh  lands  before  the  north- 
west wind.  And  the  colour  of  everything  —  of  the 
moss,  the  peaks,  the  nearer  crags  and  fields  —  was 
superbly  rich  and  violent.  The  soaked  woods  of 
the  park  from  Avhich  she  had  just  emerged  were 
almost    black,    and    from    their    heart    Laura    could 

128 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  129 

hear  the  river's  swollen  voice  pursuing  her  as  she 
walked. 

There  was  something  in  the  afternoon  that  re- 
minded her  of  her  earliest  impressions  of  Bannisdale 
and  its  fell  country  —  of  those  rainy  March  winds 
that  were  blowing  about  her  when  she  first  alighted 
at  the  foot  of  the  old  tower. 

The  association  made  her  tremble  and  catch  her 
breath.  It  was  not  all  joy  —  oh!  far  from  it!  The 
sweet  common  rapture  of  common  love  was  not  hers. 
Instinctively  she  felt  something  in  her  own  lot  akin 
to  the  wilder  and  more  tragic  aspects  of  this  moun- 
tain land,  to  which  she  had  turned  from  the  beginning 
with  a  daughter's  yearning. 

Yet  tlie  tragedy,  if  tragedy  there  were,  was  all 
from  within,  not  from  without.  Ail^ustina  —  though 
Laura  guessed  her  mind  well  enough  —  complained 
no  more.  The  marriage  was  fixed  for  November ; 
the  dispensation  from  the  Bishop  had  been  obtained. 
Xo  lover  could  be  more  ardent,  more  tender,  than 
Helbeck. 

Why  then  this  weariness  —  this  overwhelming  mel- 
ancholy that  seized  her  in  all  her  solitary  moments  ? 
Her  nature  had  lost  its  buoyancy,  its  old  gift  for 
happiness. 

The  truth  Avas  that  her  will  was  tired  out.  Her 
whole   soul   thirsted   to    submit,    and   yet   could   not 

VOL.   II.  —  K 


l;JO  IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

suliiiiil.  Was  it  the  mere  spell  of  Catholic  order 
aiul  discipline,  working  upon  her  own  restless  and 
ill-ordered  nature  ?  It  had  so  worked,  indeed,  from 
the  beginning.  She  could  recall  —  with  trembling  — 
many  a  strange  moment  in  Helbeck's  presence,  or 
in  the  chapel,  when  she  had  seemed  to  feel  her 
whole  self  breaking  up,  dissolving  in  tlie  grip  of 
a  power  that  was  at  once  her  foe  and  the  bearer 
of  infinite  seduction.  But  always  the  will,  the  self, 
had  won  the  victory,  had  delivered  a  final  ^^  No  !" 
into  which  had  rushed  the  whole  energy  of  her 
being. 

And  now  —  if  it  were  only  possible  to  crush  back 
that  "  No "  —  to  beat  down  this  resistance  which, 
like  an  alien  garrison,  defended,  as  it  were,  a  town 
that  hated  it;  it  she  could  only  turn  and  knock  — 
knock  liumbly  —  at  that  closed  door  in  her  lover's 
life  and  heart.     One  touch! — one  step! 

Just  as  Helbeck  could  hardly  trust  himself  to 
think  of  the  joy  of  conquest,  so  she  shrank  be- 
wildered before  the  fancied  bliss  of  yielding. 

To  what  awfid  or  tender  things  would  it  admit  her ! 
That  ebb  and  flow  of  mystical  emotion  she  dimly  saw 
in  Helbeck,  a  life  within  a  life ;  —  all  that  is  most 
intimate  and  touching  in  the  struggle  of  the  soul  — 
all  that  strains  and  pierces  the  heart  —  the  world 
to  which  these  belong  rose    before    her,  secret,  mys- 


HELBECK  OF  BAN.\ISDALE  131 

terious,  '•'  a  city  not  made  with  hands,"  now  drawing, 
now  repelling.  Voices  came  from  it  to  her  that  pen- 
etrated all  the  passion  and  the  immaturity  of  her 
nature. 

The  mere  imagination  of  what  it  would  mean  to 
surrender  herself  to  Helbeek's  teaching  in  these 
strange  and  moving  things  —  what  it  would  be  to 
approach  them  through  the  sweetness,  the  chiding, 
the  training  of  his  love  —  could  shake  and  unnerve 
her. 

What  stood  in  the  way  ? 

Simply  a  revolt  and  repulsion  that  seemed  to  be 
more  than  and  outside  herself — something  independ- 
ent and  unconquerable,  of  which  she  was  the  mere 
instrument. 

Had  the  differences  between  her  and  Helbeck  been 
differences  of  opinion,  they  would  have  melted  like 
morning  dew.  But  they  went  far  deeper.  Helbeck, 
indeed,  was  in  his  full  maturity.  He  had  been 
trained  by  Jesuit  teachers  ;  he  had  lived  and  thought; 
his  mind  had  a  framework.  Had  he  ever  felt  a 
difficulty,  he  would  have  been  ready,  no  doubt,  with 
the  answer  of  the  schools.  But  he  was  governed 
by  heart  and  imagination  no  less  than  Laura.  A 
serviceable  intelligence  had  been  used  simply  to 
strengthen  the  claims  of  feeling  and  faith.  Such  as 
it  was,  however,  it  knew  itself.     It  was  at  command. 


132  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

But  Laura  I  —  Laura  Avas  the  pure  product  of  an 
environment.  She  represented  forces  of  intelligence, 
of  analysis,  of  criticism,  of  which  in  theinselv^es  she 
knew  little  or  nothing,  except  so  far  as  they  affected 
all  her  modes  of  feeling.  She  felt  as  she  had  been 
born  to  feel,  as  she  had  boon  trained  to  feel.  But 
when  in  this  new  conflict  —  a  conflict  of  instincts, 
of  the  deepest  tendencies  of  two  natures  —  she  tried 
to  lay  hold  iipon  the  rational  life,  to  help  herself  by 
it  and  from  it,  it  failed  her  everywhere.  She  had 
no  tools,  no  weapons.  The  Catholic  argument  scan- 
dalised, exasperated  her ;  but  she  could  not  meet  it. 
And  the  personal  prestige  and  fascination  of  her 
lover  did  but  increase  with  her,  as  her  feeling  grew 
more  troubled  and  excited,  and  her  intellectual  de- 
fence weaker. 

Meanwhile  to  the  force  of  temperament  there  was 
daily  added  the  force  of  a  number  ©f  childish  preju- 
dices and  dislikes.  She  had  come  to  Bannisdale 
prepared  to  hate  all  she  saw  there ;  and  with  the  one 
supreme  exception,  hatred  had  grown  at  command. 
She  was  a  creature  of  excess ;  of  poignant  and  in- 
delible impressions.  The  nuns,  with  their  unintel- 
ligible virtues,  and  their  very  obvious  bigotries  and 
littlenesses ;  the  slyness  and  absurdities  of  Father 
Bowles ;  the  priestly  claims  of  Father  Leadham ;  the 
various  superstitions  and  peculiarities    of   the  many 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  133 

priests  and  religious  who  liad  passed  through  the 
house  since  she  kneAv  it  —  ahas  !  she  hated  them  all ! 

—  and  did  not  knoAv  how  she  was  to  help  hating 
them  in  the  future.  These  Catholic  figures  were  to 
her  so  many  disagreeable  automata,  moved  by  springs 
she  could  not  possibly  conceive,  and  doing  perpetu- 
ally the  most  futile  and  foolish  things.  She  knew, 
moreover,  by  a  sure  instinct,  that  she  had  been  un- 
welcome to  them  from  the  first  moment  of  her  ap- 
pearance, and  that  she  was  now  a  stumbling-block 
and  a  grievance  to  them  all. 

Was  she  —  by  submission — to  give  these  people, 
so  to  speak,  a  right  to  meddle  and  dabble  in  her 
heart?     AYas  she  to  be  wept  over  by  Sister  Angela 

—  to  confess  her  sins  to  Father  Bowles  —  still  worse, 
to  Father  Leadhara  ?  As  she  asked  herself  the  ques- 
tion, she  shrank  in  sudden  passion  from  the  whole 
world  of  ideas  concerned  —  from  all  those  stifling 
notions  of  sin,  penance,  absolution,  direction,  as  they 
were  conventionalised  in  Catholic  practice  and  chat- 
tered about  by  stupid  and  mindless  people.  In  de- 
fiance of  them,  her  whole  nature  stood  like  a  charged 
weapon,  ready  to  strike. 

For  she  had  been  bred  in  that  strong  sense  of  per- 
sonal dignity  which  in  all  ages  has  been  the  alter- 
native to  the  abasements  and  humiliations  of  religion. 
And  with  that  sense  of  dignity  went  reserve  —  the  in- 


134  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

timate  conviction  that  no  feeling  wliirli  is  talked  about, 
which  can  be  observed  and  handled  and  measured  by 
other  people,  is  worth  a  rush.  It  was  what  seemed 
to  her  the  spiritual  intrusiveness  of  Catholicism,  its 
perpetual  uncovering  of  the  soul  —  its  disrespect  for 
the  secrets  of  personality  —  its  humiliation  of  the  will 
—  that  made  it  most  odious  in  the  eyes  of  this  daughter 
of  a  modern  world,  which  finds  in  the  development 
and  ennobling  of  our  human  life  its  most  character- 
istic faith. 

There  were  many  moments  indeed  in  which  the 
whole  Catholic  system  appeared  to  Laura's  strained 
imagination  as  one  vast  chasse  —  an  assemblage  of 
hunters  and  their  toils  —  against  which  the  ])Oor 
human  spirit  that  was  their  (piarry  must  somehow 
protect  itself,  with  every  possible  wile  or  violence. 

So  that  neither  submission,  nor  a  mere  light  toler- 
ance  and  forgetting,  were  possible.  Other  girls,  it 
seemed,  married  Catholics  and  made  nothing  of  it  — 
agreed  pleasantly  to  differ  all  their  lives.  Her  heart 
cried  out  I  There  could  be  no  likeness  between  these 
Catholic  husbands  and  A.lan  Helbeck. 

.  In  the  first  days  of  their  engagement  she  had  often 
said  to  herself :  "  I  need  have  nothing  to  do  with  it ! " 
or  "  Some  things  are  so  lovely !  —  I  will  only  think 
of  them."  In  those  hours  beside  the  sea  it  had  been 
so  easy  to  be  tolerant  and  kind.     Helbeck  was  hers 


EELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  135 

from  iiiorning  till  uiglit.  And  she,  so  much  younger, 
so  weak  and  small  and  ignorant,  had  seemed  to  hold 
his  life,  with  all  its  unexplored  depths  and  strengths, 
in  her  hand. 

And  now 

She  threw  herself  down  on  a  rock  that  jutted  from 
the  wet  grass,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  jealous  pain 
that  possessed  her. 

A  few  days  more  and  Mr.  Williams  would  be 
gone.  There  was  some  relief  in  that  thought.  That 
strange  scene  in  the  drawing-room  —  deep  as  all  con- 
cerned had  buried  it  in  oblivious  silence  —  had  natu- 
rally made  his  whole  visit  an  offence  to  her.  In  her 
passionate  way  she  felt  herself  degraded  by  his  very 
presence  in  the  house.  His  eyes  constantly  dropt, 
especially  in  her  presence  and  Augustina's,  his  evi- 
dent cold  shrinking  from  the  company  of  w^omen  — 
she  thought  of  them  with  disgust  and  anger.  For 
she  said  to  herself  that  now  she  understood  what 
they  meant. 

Of  late  she  had  been  constantly  busy  with  the 
books  that  stood  to  the  right  of  Helbeck's  table. 
She  could  not  keep  herself  away  from  them,  although 
the  signs  of  tender  and  familiar  use  they  bore,  were 
as  thorns  in  her  sore  sense.  Even  his  books  were 
better  friends  to  him  than  she !     And  especially  had 


136  EELBECK   OF  BANA'ISDALE 

she  been  dipping  into  those  "  Lives  of  the  Saints " 
that  Helbeck  read  habitually  day  by  day;  of  which 
he  talked  to  young  Williams  Avith  a  minuteness  of 
knowledge  that  he  scarcely  possessed  on  any  other 
subject  —  knowledge  that  appeared  in  all  the  details 
of  the  chapel  painting.  And  on  one  occasion,  as  she 
turned  over  the  small,  worn  volumes  of  his  Alban 
Butler,  she  had  come  upon  a  certain  passage  in  the 
life  of  St.  Charles  Borromeo : 

"  Out  of  a  most  scrupulous  love  of  purity  .  .  . 
neither  would  he  speak  to  any  woman,  not  even  to 
his  pious  aunt,  or  sisters,  or  any  nun,  but  in  sight 
of  at  least  two  persons,  and  in  as  few  words  as 
possible." 

The  girl  flung  it  down.  Surrounded  as  she  often 
was  by  priests  —  affronted  by  those  downcast  eyes 
of  the  scholastic — the  passage  came  upon  her  as 
an  insult.  Her  cheeks  burnt.  Instinctively  she 
showed  herself  that  evening  more  difficult  and  ex- 
acting than  ever  with  the  man  who  loved  her,  and 
could  yet  feed  his  mind  on  the  virtues  of  St. 
Charles  Borromeo. 

Nevertheless,  she  was  often  puzzled  by  the  man- 
ner and  demeanour  of  the  young  Jesuit. 

During  his  work  at  the  chapel  frescoes  certain 
curious  transformations  seemed  to  have  passed  over 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  137 

liiin.  Or  was  it  merely  the  change  of  dress  ? 
While  painting  he  wore  a  long  holland  blouse  that 
covered  the  clerical  coat,  concealed  the  clumsy 
limbs  and  feet,  and  concentrated  the  eye  of  the 
spectator  on  the  young  beauty  of  the  head.  When 
a  visitor  entered  he  would  look  up  for  an  instant 
flushed  with  work  and  ardour,  then  plunge  again 
into  what  he  was  doing.  Art  had  reclaimed  him ; 
Laura  could  almost  have  said  the  Jesuit  had  dis- 
appeared. And  what  an  astonishing  gift  there  was 
in  those  clumsy  fingers  !  His  daring  delicacies  of 
colour ;  his  ways  of  using  the  brush,  that  seemed 
to  leave  no  clue  behind;  the  liquid  shimmer  and 
brilliancy  of  his  work  —  Helbeck  could  only  .ex- 
plain them  by  saying  that  he  had  once  taken  him  as 
a  lad  .of  nineteen  to  see  a  loan  exhibition  at  Man- 
chester, and  then  to  the  gallery  at  Edinburgh. 

"There  were  three  artists  that  he  fastened  upon 
—  Watteau! — I  have  seen  him  recoil  from  the  sub- 
jects (he  was  already  balancing  whether  he  should 
become  a  religious)  and  then  go  back  again  and 
again  to  the  pictures,  feeding  himself  upon  them. 
Then  there  were  two  or  three  Rembrandts,  and 
two  or  three  Tintorets.  One  Tintoret  Entombment 
I  remember  —  a  small  picture.  I  never  could  get 
him  away  from  it.  He  told  me  once'  that  it  was 
like  something  painted  in  powdered  gems  and  then 


188  HELBECK  OF  liANNISDALE 

dipped  in  air.  I  believe  he  got  the  expression 
from  some  book  he  was  reading,"  said  Helbeck, 
with  the  good-humoured  smile  of  one  who  does  not 
himself  indulge  in  the  fineries  of  language.  .  .  . 
"  AVhen  we  came  home  I  borrowed  a  couple  of  i)ict- 
ures  for  hi  in  from  a  friend  in  Lancashire,  who  has 
good  things.  One  was  a  Kembrandt — 'The  Cast- 
ing-out of  Hagar'  —  I  have  his  copy  of  it  in  my 
room  now  —  the  other  was  a  Tintoret  sketch.  He 
worked  at  them  for  days  and  weeks,  pondering 
and  copying  them,  bit  by  bit,  till  he  was  almost 
ill  with  excitement  and  enthusiasm.  But  you  see 
the  result  in  what  he  does." 

And  Helbeck  smiled  upon  the  artist  with  the 
affectionate  sympathy  of  an  elder  brother.  He  and 
Laura  were  standing  together  one  morning  at  the 
west  end  of  the  chapel,  while  Williams,  in  his 
blouse  and  mounted  on  a  high  stool,  was  painting 
a  dozen  yards  away. 

''And  then  he  gave  it  up!"  said  Laura  under 
her  breath.     "  Who  can  understand  that  ?  " 

Helbeck  hesitated  a  little.  His  face  was  crossed 
for  a  moment  by  the  shadoAv  of  some  thought  that 
he  did  not  communicate.  Then  he  said,  "  He  came 
—  as  I  told  you  —  to  think  that  it  was  right  and 
best  for  him  to  do  so.  An  artist,  darling,  has  to 
think  of  the  Four  Last  Things,  like  anybody  else!" 


1 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  139 

"The    Four   Last   Things!''    said   Laura,  startled. 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Death  —  Judgment  —  Heaven  —  and  Hell." 
The  words  fell  slowly  from  the  half-whispering 
voice  into  the  quiet  darkness  of  the  chapel.  Laura 
looked  up  —  Helbeck's  eyes,  fixed  upon  the  crucifix 
over  the  altar,  seemed  to  receive  thence  a  stern  and 
secret  message  to  which  the  whole  man  responded. 
Tlie  girl  moved  restlessly  away. 
'•  Let  us  go  and  see  what  he  is  doing." 
As  they  approached,  Williams  turned  to  Helbeck 
—  he  seemed  not  to  see  Miss  Fountain  —  and  said 
a  few  troubled  phrases  that  showed  him  wholly 
dissatisfied  with  his  morning's  work.  Beads  of  per- 
spiration stood  on  his  brow;  his  lips  were  pinched 
and  feverish ;  his  eyes  unhappy.  He  pointed  Hel- 
beck to  the  figure  he  was  engaged  upon  —  a  strange 
dream  of  St.  Mary  of  Egypt,  as  a  very  old  woman, 
clothed  in  the  mantle  of  Zosimus  —  the  lion  who 
was  to  bury  her,  couchant  at  her  feet.  Helbeck 
looked  into  it ;  admired  some  points,  criticised  others. 
Williams  got  down  from  his  stool,  talked  with  a 
low-voiced  volubility,  an  egotistical  passion  and  dis- 
turbance that  roused  astonishment  in  Laura.  Till 
then  she  had  been  acquainted  only  with  the  meas- 
oired  attitudes  and  levelled  voice  that  the  Jesuit 
learns  from  the   '•Regula3    .Arodestite "  of  his  order. 


-o" 


140  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

But  for  the  first  time  she  felt  a  certain  sympathy 
with  hint. 

Afterwards  for  some  days  the  young  man,  so 
recently  an  invalid,  could  hardly  be  persuaded  to  take 
sufficient  exercise  or  food.  He  was  absorbed  in  his 
saint  and  in  the  next  figure  beyond  her,  that  was 
already  growing  under  his  brush.  St.  Ursula,  white 
robed  and  fair  haired,  was  springing  like  a  flower 
from  the  wall;  her  delicate  youth  shone  beside  the 
age  and  austerity,  the  penitence  and  emaciation,  of 
St.  Mary  of  Egypt.  Both  looked  towards  the  altar; 
but  St.  INIary  with  a  mystic  sadness  that  both 
adored  and  quailed ;  St.  Ursula  with  the  rapture, 
the  confidence,  of  a  bride. 

The  artist  could  not  be  torn  from  his  conception ; 
and  upon  Laura  too  the  spell  of  the  work  steadily 
grew.  She  would  slip  into  the  chapel  at  all  hours, 
and  watch ;  sometimes  standing  a  little  way  from 
the  painter,  a  black  lace  scarf  thrown  round  her 
bright  hair,  sometimes  sitting  motionless  with  a 
book  on  her  knee,  which  she  did  not  read.  When 
Helbeck  was  there  conversation  arose  into  which 
she  was  often  drawn.  And  out  of  a  real  wish  to 
please  Helbeck,  she  would  silence  her  oavu  resent- 
ments, and  force  herself  to  be  friendly.  Insensibly 
Williams  began  to  talk  to  her;  and  it  would  some- 
times happen,  when  Helbeck  went  away  for  a  time. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  141 

that  the  cold  reserve  or  mauvaise  Jionte  of  the 
Jesuit  would  melt  Avliolly  before  the  eagerness  of 
the  artist  —  when,  with  intervals  of  a  brusque  silence, 
he  talked  with  the  rapidity  and  force  of  a  turbid 
stream  on  the  imaginations  and  the  memories  em- 
bodied in  his  work.  And  on  one  occasion,  when 
the  painter  was  busy  with  the  head  of  St.  Ursula, 
Laura,  who  was  talking  to  Helbeck  a  few  yards 
away,  turned  suddenly  and  found  those  dark  strange 
eyes,  that  as  a  rule  evaded  her,  fixed  steadily  and 
intently  upon  her.  Next  day  she  fancied  with  a 
start  of  dislike  that  in  the  lines  of  St.  Ursula's 
brow,  and  in  the  arrangement  of  the  hair,  there 
was  a  certain  resemblance  to  herself.  But  Helbeck 
did  not  notice  it,  and  nothing  was  said. 

At  meals,  too,  conversatiou  turned  now  more  on 
art  than  on  missions.  Pictures  seen  by  the  two 
f fiends  years  before ;  Helbeck's  fading  recollections 
of  Florence  and  Eome ;  modern  Catholic  art  as  it 
was  being  developed  in  the  Jesuit  churches  of  the 
Continent :  of  these  things  Williams  would  talk,  and 
talk  eagerly.  Sometimes  Augustina  would  timidly 
introduce  some  subject  of  greater  practical  interest 
to  the  commonplace  English  Catholic.  Mr.  Williams 
would  let  it  drop;  and  then  Mrs.  Fountain  would 
sit  silent  and  ill  at  ease,  her  head  and  hands 
twitching  in  a  helpless  bewildered  way. 


142  TJELIiKCK  OF  BANNISDALE 

But  ill  a  iiHuiu'iit  caiuc  a  cluiiigc.  After  a  certain 
Tliuvsday  wlien  lie  was  at  work  all  day,  the  young 
man  painted  no  more.  IJoyond  Si.  Ursula,  St.  Eulalia 
of  Saragossa,  Virgin  and  Martyr,  had  been  sketclied 
in,  with  a  strange  force  of  line  and  some  sugges- 
tions both  of  colour  and  symbolism  that  ludd  Laura 
fascinateih  IJut  the  sketch  remained  ghostlike  on 
the  wall.  The  high  stool  was  removed;  the  blouse 
put  away. 

Thenceforward  Mr.  Williams  —  to  Laura's  secret 
anger  —  spent  hours  in  Helbeck's  study  reading.  His 
avoidance  of  her  society  and  Mrs.  Fountain's  was  more 
marked  than  ever.  His  face,  which  in  the  first  days 
at  Bannisdale  had  begun  to  recover  a  certain  boyish 
bloom,  became  again  white  and  drawn.  The  eyes 
were  scarcely  ever  seen  ;  if,  by  some  rare  chance,  the 
heavy  lids  did  lift,  the  fire  and  brilliance  of  the  gaze 
below  were  startling  to  the  bystander.  But  for  the 
most  ])art  he  seemed  to  be  wrapped  in  a  dumb  sickli- 
ness and  pain;  his  person  was  even  less  cleanly, 
his  clothes  less  cared  for,  than  before.  At  table  he 
hardly  talked  at  all ;  never  of  painting,  or  of  any  topic 
connected  with  it. 

Once  or  twice  Laura  caught  Helbeck's  look  fixed 
upon  his  guest  in  what  seemed  to  her  anxiety  or  per- 
plexity.    But    when    she  carelessly  asked   him  what 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  143 

luiglit  be  wrong  with  Mr.  Williams,  the  Squire  gave  a 
decided  answer. 

''He  is  ill  —  and  we  ought  not  to  have  allowed  him 
to  do  this  work.  There  must  be  complete  rest  till  he 
goes." 

"  Has  he  seen  his  father  ?  "  asked  Laura. 

"No.     That  is  still  hanging  over  him." 

"  Does  his  father  wish  to  see  him  ?  " 

"No !     But  it  is  his  duty  to  go." 

"Why?  That  he  may  enjoy  a  little  more  martyr- 
dom ?  " 

Helbeck  laughed  and  captured  her  hand. 

"  What  penalty  do  I  exact  for  that  ?  " 

"  It  doesn't  deserve  any,"  she  said  quickly.  "  I 
don't  think  it  is  for  health  he  has  given  up  his  paint- 
ing.    I  believe  he  is  unhappy." 

"  It  may  have  revived  old  struggles,"  said  Helbeck, 
with  a  sigh  that  seemed  to  escape  him  against  his 
will. 

"  Why  doesn't  he  give  it  all  up,"  she  said  with 
:'nergy,  "  and  be  an  artist  ?  That's  where  his  heart, 
his  strength,  lies." 

Helbeck's  manner  changed  and  stiffened. 

"  You  are  entirely  mistaken,  dearest.  His  heart 
and  his  strength  are  in  his  vocation  —  in  making  him- 
self a  good  Jesuit." 

She  shook  her  head  obstinately,  with  that  rising 


144  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

breath   of   excitement  wliicli   the   slightest  touch   of 
difference  was  now  apt  to  call  up. 

"  I  don't  think  so !  —  and  I  have  watched  him.  Sup- 
pose he  did  give  it  all  up?  He  could,  of  course,  at 
any  time." 

Helbeck  tried  to  smile  and  change  the  subject. 
But  Laura  persisted.  Till  at  last  the  Squire  said 
with  pain  : 

"Darling  —  I  don't  think  you  know  how  these 
things  sound  in  Catholic  ears." 

"  But  I  want  to  know.  You  see,  I  don't  understand 
anything  about  vows.  I  can't  imagine  why  that  man 
can't  walk  into  a  studio  and  leave  his  clerical  coat 
behind  him  to-morrow.  To  me  nothing  seems  easier. 
He  is  a  human  being,  and  free." 

Helbeck  was  silent,  and  began  to  put  some  letters 
in  order  that  were  lying  on  his  table.  Laura's  ca- 
price only  grew  stronger. 

"  If  he  were  to  leave  the  Jesuits,"  she  said,  "  would 
you  break  with  him  ?  " 

As  Mr.  Williams  was  safely  in  the  park  with 
Augustina,  Laura  had  resumed  her  accustomed  place 
in  the  low  seat  beside  Helbeck's  writing-table.  Augus- 
tina, for  decorum's  sake,  had  her  arm-chair  on  the 
further  side  of  the  fireplace,  where  she  often  dozed, 
knitted,  and  read  the  newspapers.  But  she  left  the 
betrothed  a  good  deal  alone,  less  from  a  natural  femi- 


BELBECK  OF  BA^^NISDALE  145 

nine  sympathy  than  because  she  fed  herself  day  by  day 
on  the  hope  that,  in  spite  of  all,  Alan  would  yet  set 
himself  in  earnest  to  the  task  that  was  clearly  his  — 
the  task  of  Laura's  conversion. 

Helbeck  showed  no  more  readiness  to  answer  her 
second  inquiry  than  her  first.  He  seemed  to  be 
absorbed  in  reading  over  a  business  letter. 

Laura's  pride  was  roused.  Her  cheeks  flushed,  and 
she  repeated  her  question,  her  mind  filled  all  the  time 
with  that  mingled  dread  and  wilfulness  that  must 
have  possessed  poor  Psyche  when  she  raised  the 
lamp. 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Helbeck  dryly,  without  lifting 
his  e3fes  from  his  letter  —  "I  don't  suppose  that  he 
would  remain  my  friend,  under  such  strange  circum- 
stances—  or  that  he  would  wish  it."     . 

"  So  you  would  cast  him  off  ?  " 

"Why  will  you  start  such  uncomfortable  topics, 
dear  ?  "  he  said,  half  laughing.  "  What  has  poor 
Williams  done  that  you  should  imagine  such 
things  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  know  what  yon  would  do  if  Mr.  Williams 
—  if  any  priest  you  know  were  to  break  his  vows  and 
leave  the  Church,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  Follow  the  judgment  of  the  Church,"  said  Helbeck 
quietly. 

"  And  give  up  your  friend ! " 

VOL.    II.  — L 


146  HELBECK  OF  BANNTSDALE 

''Frioiulsliip,  darling,  is  a  ooniplcx  thing — it 
depends  upon  so  much.  T>ut  T  am  so  tired  of  my 
letters !  Your  hat  is  in  the  hall.  Won't  you  come 
out?" 

He  rose,  and  bent  over  her  tenderly,  his  hand  on 
the  table.  In  a  flash  she  felt  all  the  strange  dignity, 
the  ascetic  strength  of  his  personality ;  it  was  sug- 
gested this  time  by  the  mere  details  of  dress  —  by 
the  contrast  between  the  worn  and  shabby  coat,  and 
the  stern  force  of  the  lips,  the  refined  individuality 
of  the  hand.  She  was  filled  anew  with  the  sudden 
sense  that  she  knew  but  half  of  him  —  a  sudden  ter- 
ror of  the  future. 

She  lay  back  in  her  chair,  meeting  his  eyes  and  try- 
ing to  smile.  But  in  truth  she  was  quivering  with 
impatience. 

"I  won't  move  till  I  have  my  answer!  Please  tell 
me  —  would  —  would  you  regard  him  as  a  lost  soul  ?  " 

"Dearest!  I  am  neither  Williams's  judge  nor  any- 
one else's!  Of  course  I  must  hold  that  a  man  who 
breaks  the  most  solemn  vows  endangers  his  soul. 
What  else  do  you  expect  of  me  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  soul '  ?  Have  I  a  soul  ? 
—  and  what  do  you  suppose  is  going  to  happen  to 
it?" 

The  words  were  flung  out  with  a  concentrated 
passion  —  almost  an  anguish  —  that  for   the  moment 


HELBECK  OF  BANXISDALE  14T 

struck  him  dumb.  They  both  grew  pale ;  he  looked 
at  her  steadily,  and  spoke  her  name,  in  a  low  appeal- 
ing voice.  But  she  took  no  notice;  she  rose,  and, 
turning  away  from  him,  she  leant  against  the  mantel- 
piece, speaking  with  a  choking  eagerness  that  forced 
its  way. 

"  You  were  in  the  chapel  last  night  —  very  late.  I 
know,  for  I  heard  the  door  open  and  shut.  You  must 
be  unhapi:>y,  or  you  wouldn't  spend  so  much  time  pray- 
ing. Are  you  unhappy  about  me  ?  I  know  you  don't 
want  to  force  me ;  but  if,  in  time,  I  don't  agree  with 
you  —  if  it  goes  on  all  our  lives  —  how  can  you 
help  thinking  that  I  shall  be  lost  —  lost  eternally  — 
separated  from  you  ?  You  would  think  it  of  Mr. 
Williams  if  he  left  the  Church.  I  know  you  told 
me  once  about  ignorance  —  invincible  ignorance. 
But  here  there  will  be  no  ignorance.  I  shall  have 
seen  everything  —  heard  everything  —  known  every- 
thing. If  living  here  doesn't  teach  one,  what  could  ? 
And  "  —  she  paused,  then  resumed  with  even  greater 
emphasis  —  "  and  as  far  as  I  can  see  1  shall  reject  it 
all  —  wilfully,  knowingly,  deliberately.  What  will 
you  say?  What  do  you  say  now  —  to  yourself  — 
when  —  when  you  pray  for  me  ?  AYhat  do  you  really 
think  —  what  do  you  fear  —  what  must  you  fear  ?  I 
ought  to  know." 

Helbeck  looked  at  her  without  answering  for  a  long 


148  UELHECK  OF  BAXNISDALE 

moment.  Her  agitation,  liis  painful  silence,  bore  piti- 
ful testimony  to  the  strange,  insurmountable  reality 
of  those  faots  of  the  spirit  that  stood  like  rocks  in 
the  stream  of  their  love. 

At  last  he  held  out  his  hands  to  her  with  that  half- 
reproachful  gesture  he  had  often  used  towards  her. 
"I  fear  nothing! — I  hope  everything.  You  never 
forbade  me  that.  Will  you  leave  my  love  no  myste- 
ries, Laura  —  no  reserve  ?  Nothing  for  you  to  discover 
and  explore  as  time  goes  on  ?  " 

She  trembled  under  the  mingled  remonstrance  and 
passion  of  his  tone.  But  she  persisted.  "It's  be- 
cause —  I  feel  —  other  things  come  before  love.  Tell 
me  —  I  have  a  right  to  knoAv.  I  shall  never  come 
first  —  quite  first  —  shall  I  ?  " 

She  forced  the  saddest,  proudest  of  smiles,  as  he 
took  her  reluctant  hands. 

And  involuntarily  her  eyes  travelled  over  the  room, 
over  the  crucifix  above  the  faldstool,  the  little  altar  to 
St.  Joseph,  the  worn  books  upon  his  table.  They 
were  to  her  like  the  weapons  and  symbols  of  an 
enemy. 

He  made  her  no  direct  answer.  His  face  was  for  a 
moment  grave  and  set.  Then  he  roused  himself, 
kissed  the  hands  he  held,  and  resolutely  began  to  talk 
of  something  else. 

When  a  few  minutes  later  he  left  her  alone,  she 


IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  149 

Stood  there  quivering  under  the  toucli  of  power  by 
which  he  had  silenced  her  —  under  the  angry  sense 
that  she  was  less  and  less  able  as  the  days  went  by  to 
draw  or  drive  him  mto  argument.  The  more  thorny 
her  mood  became,  the  more  sadly  did  he  seem  to  hide 
the  treasures  of  the  soul  from  her. 

These  memories,  and  many  like  them,  "were  passing 
and  repassing  through  Laura's  mind  as  she  sat  listless 
and  sad  on  the  hillside. 

When  at  last  she  shook  them  off,  the  light  was  fail- 
ing over  the  western  Avail  of  mountains.  She  had  an 
errand  to  do  for  Augustina  in  the  village  that  lay  half- 
way to  the  daffodil  wood,  and  she  sprang  up,  wonder- 
ing w^hether  there  was  still  time  for  it  before  dark. 

As  she  hurried  on  tow-ards  a  stile  that  lay  across 
the  path,  she  saw  a  woman  approaching  on  the 
further  side. 

"  Polly ! " 

The  figure  addressed  stood  still  a  moment  in  aston- 
ishment, then  ran  to  meet  the  speaker. 

"  Laura !  —  well,  I'm  sure  ! " 

The  two  girls  kissed  each  other.  Laura  looked 
gayly,  Avistfully,  at  her  cousin. 

"  Polly  —  are  you  all  very  cross  with  me  still  ?  " 

Polly  hesitated  and  fenced.  Laura  sighed.  But 
she  looked  at  the  stout  red-faced  woman  with  a  pecul- 


150  IlELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

iar  lluttcv  of  pleasure.  The  air  oC  tlie  wild  upland  — 
all  the  primitive,  homely  facts  of  the  farm,  seemed  to 
come  about  her  again.  She  had  left  Bannisdale, 
choked  with  feeling,  tired  with  thought.  Polly's 
broad  speech  and  bouncing  ways  were  welcome  as  a 
breeze  in  summer. 

They  sat  down  on  the  stile  side  by  side.  Laura 
gave  up  her  errand,  and  they  talked  fast.  Polly  was 
all  curiosity.  When  was  Laura  to  be  married,  and 
what  was  she  to  wear  ? 

''The  plainest  thing  I  can  find,"  said  Laura  indif- 
ferently. "Unless  Augustina  teases  me  into  some- 
thing I  don't  want."  Polly  inquired  if  it  would  be  in 
church.  "In  a  Catholic  church,"  said  Laura  with 
a  shrug.  "No  flowers  —  no  music.  They  just  let 
you  be  married  — that's  all." 

I'olly's  eyes  jumped  with  amazement.  "Why,  I 
thowt  they  had  everything  so  grand ! " 

"Not  if  you  will  go  and  marry  a  heretic  like 
me,"  said  Laura.  "Then  they  make  you  know  your 
place." 

"But — but  Laura!  yo're  to  be  a  Romanist  too 
—  for  sure  ? ''  cried  Polly  in  bewilderment. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Laura.     Her  eyes  spar- 
kled.    She  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  stile,  one 
small   foot   dangling.     Polly's  rustic  sense  was  once 
more  vaguely  struck  by  the  strange  mingling  in  the 
i 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  151 

Mttle  figure  of  an  extreme,  an  exquisite  delicacy  Avith 
some  tough,  incalculable  element.  Miss  Fountain's 
soft  lightness  seemed  to  offer  no  more  resistance 
than  a  daffodil  on  its  stalk.  But  approach  her !  — 
whether  it  was  poor  Hubert,  or  even ? 

Polly  looked  and  spoke  her  perplexity.  She  let 
Laura  know  that  Miss  Fountain's  conversion  was 
assumed  at  Browhead  Farm.  Through  her  blunder- 
ing though  not  unkindly  talk,  Laura  gradually  per- 
ceived indeed  a  score  of  disagreeable  things.  Mrs. 
Mason  and  her  fanatical  friend,  Mr.  Bayley,  Avere 
both  persuaded  —  so  it  seemed  —  that  Miss  Fountain 
had  set  her  cap  at  the  Squire  from  the  beginning, 
ready  at  a  moment's  notice  to  swallow  the  Scarlet 
Lady  when  reqiured.  And  Catholic  and  Protestant 
alike  were  kind  enough  to  say  that  she  had  made 
use  of  her  cousin  to  draw  on  Mr.  Helbeck.  The 
neighbourhood,  in  fact,  held  her  to  be  a  calculating 
little  minx,  ripe  for  plots  and  Papistry,  or  anything 
else  that  might  suit  a  daring  game. 

The  girl  gradually  fell  silent.  Her  head  drooped. 
Her  eyes  looked  at  Polly  askance  and  wistfully. 
She  did  not  defend  herself;  but  she  showed  the 
wound. 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  you  don't  understand,"  she  said 
at  last,  while  her  voice  trembled.  '-'Perhaps  you 
will    some   day.     I    don't   know.     Anyway,  will  you 


152  HELBECK  OF  BANjyiSDALE 

please  tell  Cousin  Elizabeth  that  Vm  not  going  to 
be  a  Catholic  ?  Perhaps  that  will  comfort  her  a 
little." 

''But  howiver  are  you  goin  to  live  wi  Mr.  Hel- 
beck  then  ? "  asked  Polly.  Her  loud  surprise  con- 
veyed the  image  of  Helbeck  as  it  lay  graven  in  the 
minds  of  the  Browhead  circle,  —  a  sort  of  triple- 
crowned,  black-browed  tyrant,  with  all  the  wiles  and 
torments  of  Rome  in  his  pocket.  A  wife  resist  — 
defy  ?  The  Church  knows  how  to  deal  with  naugh- 
tiness of  that  kind. 

Laura  laughed. 

"  We  can  but  try.  But  now  then,"  —  she  bent 
forward  and  put  her  hands  impulsively  on  Polly's 
shoulders,  —  "tell  me  about  everybody  and  every- 
thing. How's  Daffacly  ?  how's  the  cow  that  was  ill  ? 
how're  the  calves  ?  how's  Hubert  ?  " 

She  laughed  again,  but  there  was  moisture  in  her 
look.  For  the  thousandth  time,  her  heart  told  her 
that  in  this  untoward  marriage  she  was  wrenching 
herself  anew  from  her  father  and  all  his  world. 

Polly  rather  tossed  her  head  at  the  mention  of 
Hubert.  She  replied  with  some  tartness  that  he 
was  doing  very  Avell  —  nobody  indeed  could  be  do- 
ing better.  Did  Laura's  eyebrows  go  up  the  very 
slightest  trifle  ?  If  so,  the  sister  beat  down  the  sur- 
prise.    Hubert  no  doubt   had   been  upset,  and  a  bit 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  153 

wild,  after  —  well,  Laura  might  guess  what!  But 
that  was  all  past  now,  long  ago.  There  was  a  friend, 
a  musical  friend,  a  rescuer,  who  had  appeared,  in 
the  shape  of  a  young  organist  who  had  come  to 
lead  the  Froswick  Philharmonic  Society.  Hubert 
was  living  with  him  now;  and  the  young  man,  of 
whom  all  Froswick  thought  a  wonderful  deal,  was 
looking  after  him,  and  making  him  write  his  songs. 
Some  of  them  were  to  be  sung  at  a  festival 

Laura  clapped  her  hands. 

"  I  told  him !  "  she  said  gayly.  "  If  he'll  only  work, 
he'll  do.     And  he  is  keeping  straight  ?  " 

Her  look  Avas  keen  and  sisterly.  She  wished  to 
show  that  she  had  forgotten  and  forgiven.  But 
Polly  resented  it. 

"  Why  shouldn't  he  be  keeping  straight  ? "  she 
asked.  Ko  doubt  Laura  had  thought  him  just  a  ne'er 
do  weel.  But  he  was  nothing  of  the  sort  —  he  was  a 
bit  wild  and  unruly,  as  young  men  are  —  "  same  as  t' 
colts  afoor  yo  break  'em."  But  Laura  would  have 
done  much  better  for  herself  if  she  had  stayed  quietly 
with  him  that  night  at  Braeside,  and  let  him  take  her 
over  the  sands,  as  he  wished  to,  instead  of  running 
away  from  him  in  that  foolish  way. 

Polly  spoke  with  significance  —  nay,  with  heat. 
Laura  was  first  startled,  then  abashed. 

"  Do  you  think  I  made  a  ridiculous  fuss  ?  "  she  said 


154  nELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

humbly.  "  Perhaps  I  clitl.  But  if  —  if  — "  she 
spoke  slowly,  drawing  patterns  on  the  wood  of  the 
stile  with  her  finger,  ''  if  I  hadn't  seen  him  drunk 
once  —  I  suppose  I  shouldn't  have  been  afraid." 

"  Well,  you'd  no  call  to  be  afraid  ! "  cried  Polly. 
"Hubert  vowed  to  me,  as  he  hadna  had  a  drop  of  ony- 
thing.  And  after  all,  he's  a  relation  —  an  if  you'd 
walked  wi  him,  you'd  not  ha  had  telegrams  sent 
aboot  you  to  make  aw  th'  coontry  taak  ! " 

"  Telegrams  !  "  Laura  stared.  "  Oh,  I  know  —  Mr. 
llelbeck  telegraphed  to  the  station-master  —  but  it 
must  have  come  after  I'd  left  the  station." 

"  Aye —  an  t'  station-master  sent  word  back  to  Mr. 
Helbeck !  Perhaps  you  doan't  knaw  onything  aboot 
that !  "  exclaimed  Polly  triumphantly. 

Laura  turned  rather  pale. 

"  A  telegram  to  Mr.  Helbeck  ?  " 

Polly,  surprised  at  so  much  ignorance,  could  not 
forego  the  sensation  that  it  offered  her.  She  bit  her 
lip,  but  the  lip  would  speak.  So  the  story  of  the 
midnight  telegram  —  as  it  had  been  told  by  that 
godly  man  ]\Ir.  Cawston  of  Braeside  to  that  other 
godly  man  Mr.  Bayley,  perpetual  curate  of  Brow- 
head,  and  as  by  now  it  had  gone  all  about  the 
country-side  —  came  piecemeal  out. 

"  Oh !  an  at  that  Papist  shop  i'  th'  High  Street  — 
you  remember  that  sickly-lukin  fellow  at  the  dance  — 


EELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  155 

they  do  say  at  they  do  taak  shameful ! "  exclaimed 
Polly  indignantly. 

"  What  do  they  say  ?  "  said  Laura  in  a  low  voice. 

Polly  hesitated.  Then  out  of  sheer  nervousness 
she  blundered  into  the  harshest  possible  answer. 

''  Well,  they  said  that  Mr.  Helbeck  could  do  no 
different,  that  he  did  it  to  save  his  sister  from 
knowing " 

"  Knowing  what  ?  "  said  Laura. 

Polly  declared  that  she  wasn't  just  certain.  "A 
set  o'  slanderin  backbitin  tabbies  as  soom  o'  them 
Catholics  is ! "  But  she  believed  they  said  that  Mr. 
Helbeck  had  asked  Miss  Fountain  to  marry  him  out 
of  kindness,  to  shut  people's  mouths,  and  keep  it 
from  his  sister 

"  Keep  what  ?  "  said  Laura.  Her  eyes  shone  in 
her  quivering  proud  face. 

"  Why,  I  suppose  —  at  you'd  been  carryin  on  wi 
Hubert,  and  walkin  aboot  wi  him  aw  neet,"  said 
Polly  reluctantly. 

And  she  again  insisted  how  much  wiser  it  would 
have  been  if  Laura  had  just  gone  quietly  over  the 
sands  to  Marsland.  There,  no  doubt,  she  might  have 
got  a  car  straight  away,  and  there  might  have  been  no 
talk  whatever. 

"  Mightn't  there  ?  "  said  Laura.  Her  little  chin 
was  propped  in  her  hand.     Her  gaze  swept  the  dis- 


156  UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

tant  water  of  tlie  estuary  mouth,  as  it  lay  alternately 
dark  and  shining  under  the  storm  lights  of  the 
clouds. 

"An  I'll  juist  warn  yo  o'  yan  thing,  Laura,"  said 
Polly,  with  fresh  energy.  "  There's  soom  one  at 
Bannisdale  itsel,  as  spreads  aw  maks  o'  tales.  There's 
a  body  theer^,  as  is  noa  friend  o'  yours." 

"  Oh  !  Mrs.  Denton,"  said  Laura  languidly.  "  Of 
course." 

Then  she  fell  silent.  Not  a  word  passed  the  small 
tightened  lips.  The  eyes  were  fixed  on  distance  or 
vacancy. 

Polly  began  to  be  frightened.  She  had  not  meant 
any  real  harm,  though  perhaps  there  had  been  just  a 
touch  of  malice  in  her  revelations.  Laura  was  going 
to  marry  a  Papist ;  that  was  bad.  But  also  she  was 
going  to  marry  into  a  sphere  far  out  of  the  Masons' 
ken ;  and  she  had  made  it  very  plain  that  Hubert 
and  the  likes  of  Hubert  were  not  good  enough  for  her. 
Polly  was  scandalised  on  religion's  account;  but  also 
a  little  jealous  and  sore,  in  a  natural  feminine  way,  on 
her  own ;  the  more  so  as  Mr.  Seaton  had  long  since 
ceased  to  pay  Sunday  visits  to  the  farm,  and  Polly 
had  a  sharp  suspicion  as  to  the  when  and  why  of  that 
gentleman's  disillusionment.  There  had  been  a  cer- 
tain temptation  to  let  the  future  mistress  of  Bannisdale 
know  that  the  neighbourhood  was  not  all  whispering 
huml^leness  towards  her. 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  loT 

But  at  bottom  Folly  was  honest  and  kind.  So 
when  she  saw  Laura  sit  so  palely  still,  she  repented 
her.  She  implored  that  Laura  would  not  "  worrit " 
herself  about  such  fooleries.     And  then  she  added: 

"  But  I  wonder  at  Mr.  Helbeck  didna  juist  tell  yo 
himsel  aboot  that  telegram  !  " 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  Laura.  Her  eyes  flashed.  She 
got  down  from  the  stile.  "  Good-bye,  Poll}^ !  I  must 
be  going  home." 

Suddenly  Polly  gripped  her  by  the  arm. 

"  Luke  there  !*"  she  said  in  excitement.  "  Luke !  — 
theer  he  goes  !  That's  Teddy  —  Teddy  'Williams  ! 
I  knew  as  I  had  summat  to  tell  you  —  and  when  you 
spoak  o'  Hubert  —  it  went  oot  o'  my  head." 

Laura  looked  at  her  cousin  first,  in  astonishment, 
and  then  at  the  dark  figure  walking  on  the  road  below 
—  the  straight  white  road  that  ran  across  the  marsh, 
past  the  lonely  forge  of  old  Ben  AYilliams,  the  wheel- 
wright, to  the  foot  of  the  tall  "  Scar,"  opposite,  where 
it  turned  seaward,  and  so  vanished  in  the  dimness  of 
the  coast.  It  was  the  Jesuit  certainly.  The  two 
girls  saw  him  plainly  in  the  strong  storm  light.  He 
was  walking  slowly  with  bent  head,  and  seemed  to  be 
reading.  His  solitary  form,  black  against  the  white 
of  the  road,  made  the  only  moving  thing  in  the  wide, 
rain-drenched  landscape. 

Laura  instantly  guessed  that  he  had  been  paying 


158  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

his  duty  visit  to  his  home.  And  Polly,  it  appeared, 
had  been  a.  witness  of  it. 

For  the  cottage  adjoining  the  wheelwright's  work- 
shop and  forge,  Avhere  Edward  Williams  had  been 
brought  up,  was  now  inhabited  by  his  father  and 
sister.  The  sister,  Jenny,  was  an  old  friend  of  Polly 
Mason's,  who  had  indeed  many  young  memories  of 
the  scholastic  himself.  They  had  been  all  children  or 
schoolmates  together. 

And  this  afternoon,  while  she  was  in  the  parlour 
with  Jenny,  all  of  a  sudden  —  voices  and  clamour  in 
the  forge  outside !  The  son,  the  outcast  son,  had 
quietly  presented  himself  to  his  father. 

"  Oh,  an  sic  a  to-do  !  His  fadther  wadna  let  him  ben. 
'  Naa,'  he  says,  '  if  thoo's  got  oAvt  to  say,  thoo  may 
say  it  i'  th'  shop.  Jenny  doan't  want  tha ! '  An 
Jenny  hiked  oot  —  an  I  just  saw  Teddy  turn  an 
speak  to  her  — beggin  her  like,  a  bit  masterfu  too,  aw 
t'  time  —  and  she  flounced  back  again  —  '  Keep  yor 
distance,  will  yer ! '  an  slammed  to  the  door  —  an 
fell  agen  it,  cryin.  An  sic  a  shoutin  an  hollerin 
frae  the  owd  man  !  He  made  a  gradely  noise,  he  did 
—  bit  never  a  word  f ra  Teddy  —  not  as  yo  cud  hear, 
I'll  uphowd  yo !  An  at  lasst  —  when  Jenny  an  I 
opened  t'  door  again  —  juist  a  cranny  like  —  theer  he 
was,  takin  hissel  off — his  fadther  screamin  afther 
him  —  an  he  wi  his  Papish  coat,  an  his  head  hangin  as 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  159 

tlioo  there  wor  a  load  o'  peat  on  it  —  an  his  hands 
crossed  —  soa  pious  !  Aye,  theer  lie  goes  !  —  an 
he  may  goa ! "  cried  Polly,  her  face  flaming  as  it . 
followed  the  Jesuit  out  of  sight.  "  When  a  mon's 
treated  his  aan  mother  that  gate,  it's  weary .  wark 
undoiii  it.  Aye,  soa  'tis,  Mr.  Teddy  —  soa  'tis  !  " 
And  she  raised  her  voice  vindictively. 

Laura's  lips  curled. 

"  Do  you  think  he  cares  —  one  rap  ?  It  was  his 
duty  to  go  and  see  his  father  —  so  he  went.  And 
now  he's  all  the  more  certain  he's  on  the  road  to 
heaven  —  because  his  father  abused  him,  and  his 
sister  turned  him  out.  He's  going  to  be  a  priest 
directly  —  and  a  missionary  after  that  —  and  a  holy 
martyr,  too,  if  he  gets  his  deserts.  There's  always 
fever,  or  natives,  handy.  AVliat  do  earth-worms 
like  mothers  and  sisters  matter  to  him  ? " 

Polly  stared.  Even  she,  as  she  looked,  as  she  heard, 
felt  that  a  gulf  opened  —  that  a  sick  soid  spoke. 

''  Oh !  an  I'd  clean  forgot,"  she  faltered  —  "  as  he 
must  be  stayin  at  Bannisdale  —  as  yo  wad  be  seein 
him." 

''I  see  so  many  of  them,"  said  Laura  wearily. 
She  took  up  her  bag,  that  had  been  leaning  against 
the  stile.     "  Now,  good-bye  !  " 

Suddenly  Polly's  eyes  brimmed  with  tears.  She 
flune  an  arm  round  the  slim  childish  creature. 


160  HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

"  Laura,  whatever  did  you  do  it  for  ?  I  doan't 
believe  as  yo're  a  bit  happy  i'  yor  iniud !  Coom 
away  !  —  we'se  luke  after  you  —  we're  your  aan  kith 
an  kin!" 

Laura  paused  in  Folly's  arm.  Tlicu  she  turned 
her  wild  face  —  the  eyes  half  closed,  the  pale  lips 
passionately  smiling. 

"I'll  come,  Polly,  when  I'm  dead  —  or  my  heart's 
dead  —  not  before  ! " 

And,  wrenching  herself  away,  she  ran  down  the 
path.  Polly,  with  her  clutch  o£  Brahma  eggs  in  her 
hand,  that  she  was  taking  to  the  Bannisdale  Bridge 
Parm,  leant  against  the  stile  and  cried. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  Alan  !  is  it  to-night  you  expect  Father  Lead- 
ham  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Helbeck. 

"  Have  you  told  Laura  ?  " 

"I  will  remind  her  that  we  expect  him.  It  is 
annoying  that  I  must  leave  you  to  entertain  him 
to-morrow." 

"  Oh !  we  shall  do  very  well,"  said  Augustina  rather 
eagerly.  "  Alan,  have  you  noticed  Laura,  yesterday 
and  to-day  ?     She  doesn't  look  strong." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  Squire  shortly.  His  eyes  were 
fixed  all  the  time  on  the  little  figure  of  Laura,  as  she 
sat  listlessly  in  a  sunny  corner  of  the  bowling-green, 
with  a  book  on  her  knee. 

Augustina,  who  had  been  leaning  on  his  arm,  went 
back  to  the  house.  Helbeck  advanced  and  threw 
himself  down  beside  Laura. 

''  Little  one  —  '.f  you  keep  such  pale  cheeks  —  what 
am  I  to  do  ?  " 

She  looked  down  upon  him  with  a  languid  smile. 

"  I  am  all  right." 

VOL.  II.  —  M  161 


162  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

"  That  remark  only  fills  up  your  misdoings !  If  I 
go  clown  and  get  the  pony  carriage,  will  you  drive 
with  me  through  tlie  park  and  tell  me  everything  — 
everythimj  —  that  has  been  troubling  you  the  last  few 
days  ?  " 

His  voice  was  very  low,  his  eyes  all  tenderness. 
He  had  biHMi  reproaching  himself  that  he  had  so 
often  of  late  avoided  difficult  discussions  and  thorny 
questions  with  her.  Was  she  hurt,  and  did  he 
deserve  it  ? 

"  I  will  go  driving  with  you,"  she  said  slowly. 

"Very  well"  —  he  sprang  up.  "I  will  be  back  in 
twenty  minutes  — with  the  pony." 

He  left  her,  and  she  dreamed  afresh  over  her  book. 

She  was  thinking  of  a  luncheon  at  Whinthorpe,  to 
which  she  had  been  taken,  sorely  against  her  will,  to 
meet  the  Bishop.  And  the  Bishop  had  treated  her 
with  a  singular  and  slighting  coldness.  There  was 
no  blinking  the  fact  in  the  least.  Other  people  had 
noticed  it.  Helbeck  had  been  pale  with  wrath  and 
distress.  As  far  as  she  could  remember,  she  had 
laughed  and  talked  a  good  deal. 

Well,  what  wonder?  —  if  they  thought  her  just  a 
fast  ill-conducted  .  girl,  who  had  worked  upon  Mr. 
Helbeck's  pity  and  softness  of  heart  ? 

Suddenly  she  put  out  her  hand  restlessly  to  pluck 
at  the  hedge  beside  her.     She  had  been  stung  by  the 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  163 

memory  of  herself — under  the  Squire's  AvindoAv,  in 
the  dawn.  She  saw  herself — lielpless,  and  asleep, 
the  tired  truant  come  back  to  the  feet  of  her  master. 
When  he  found  her  so,  what  could  he  do  but  pity 
her?  —  be  moved,  perhaps  beyond  bounds,  by  the 
jgoodness  of  a  generous  nature  ? 

Next,  something  stronger  than  this  doubt  touched 
the  lips  with  a  flying  smile  —  shy  and  lovely.  But 
she  was  far  from  happy.  Since  her  talk  with  Polly 
especially,  her  pride  was  stabbed  and  tormented  in 
all  directions.     And  her  nature  was  of  the  proudest. 

Where  could  she  feel  secure  ?  In  Helbeck's  heart  ? 
But  in  the  inmost  shrine  of  that  heart  she  felt  the 
brooding  of  a  majestic  and  exacting  power  that 
knew  her  not.  Her  jealousy  —  her  fear — grew  day 
by  day. 

And  as  to  the  rest,  her  imagination  was  full  of  the 
most  feverish  and  fantastic  shapes.  Since  her  talk 
with  Polly  the  world  had  seemed  to  her  a  mere  host 
of  buzzing  enemies.  All  the  persons  concerned  passed 
through  her  fancy  with  the  mask  and  strut  of  carica- 
ture. The  little  mole  on  Sister  Angela's  nose  —  the 
slightly  drooping  eyelid  that  marred  the  Keverend 
Mother's  left  cheek  —  the  nasal  twang  of  the  orphans' 
singing  —  Father  Bowles  pouncing  on  a  fly  —  Father 
Leadhara's  stately  ways  —  she  made  a  mock  or  an 
offence    out    of    them    all,    bitterly    chattering    and 


164  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

drawing  pictures  with  herself,  like  a  child  with  a 
grievance. 

And  then  on  the  top  of  these  feelings  and  exaggera- 
tions of  the  child,  would  return  the  bewildering,  the 
ever-iucr easing  trouble  of  the  woman. 

She  sprang  up. 

"If  I  could  —  if  I  could  !  Then  it  would  be  we 
two  together  —  against  the  rest.  Else  —  how  shall  I 
be  his  wife  at  all  ?  " 

She  ran  into  the  study.  There  on  the  shelf  beside 
Helbeck's  table  stood  a  little  Manual  of  Catholic  In- 
struction, that  she  knew  well.  She  tvirned  over  the 
pages,  till  she  came  to  the  sections  dealing  with  the 
reception  of  converts. 

How  often  she  had  pored  over  them !  l*Tow  she 
pored  over  them  again,  twisting  her  lips,  knitting  her 
white  brows. 

"No  adult  baptized  Protestant  ('Am  I  a  Protes- 
tant ?  —  I  am  baptized ! ')  is  considered  to  be  a  convert 
to  the  Catholic  Church  until  he  is  received  into  the 
Church  according  to  the  prescribed  rite  ('  There !  — 
it's  the  broken  glass  on  the  wall. — But  if  one  could 
just  slip  in  —  without  fuss  or  noise?')  .  .  .  You 
must  apply  to  a  Catholic  priest,  who  will  judge  of 
your  dispositions,  and  of  your  knowledge  of  the 
Catholic  faith.  He  will  give  you  further  instruction, 
and  explain  your  duties,  and  how  you  have  to  act. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  165 

When  he  is  satisfied  ('  Father  Leadham !  —  satisfied 
with  me ! '),  yon  go  to  the  altar  or  to  the  sacristy,  or 
other  place  convenient  for  your  reception.  The  priest 
who  is  with  you  says  certain  prayers  appointed  by 
the  Church ;  you  in  the  meantime  kneel  down  and 
pray  silently  {'  I  prayed  when  papa  died.' "  —  She 
looked  up,  her  face  trembling.  —  "  Else  ?  —  Yes  once ! 
—  that  night  when  I  went  in  to  prayers.)  'Yon 
Avill  then  read  or  repeat  aloud  after  the  priest  the 
Profession  of  Faith,  either  the  Creed  of  Pope  Pius 
IV '  —  (That's  —  let  me  see  !  —that's  the  Creed  of  the 
Council  of  Trent;  there's  a  note  about  it  in  one  of 
papa's  books."  She  recalled  it,  frowning:  "I  often 
think  that  we  of  the  Liberal  Tradition  have  cause  to 
be  thankful  that  the  Tridentine  Catholics  dug  the 
gulf  between  them  and  the  modern  world  so  deep. 
Otherwise,  now  that  their  claws  are  all  pared,  and 
only  the  honey  and  fairy  tales  remain,  there  would  be 
no  chance  at  all  for  the  poor  rational  life.") 

She  drew  a  long  breath,  taking  a  momentary  pleas- 
ure in  the  strong  words,  as  they  passed  through  her 
memory,  and  then  bruised  by  them. 

"  The  priest  will  now  release  j^ou  fi'om  the  ban  and 
censures  of  the  Church,  and  wdll  so  receive  you  into 
the  True  Fold.  If  you  do  not  yourself  say  the  Con- 
fiteor,  you  will  do  well  to  repeat  in  a  low  voice,  with 
sorrow  of  heart,  those  words  of  the  penitent  in  the 


166  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

Gospel :  '  0  God,  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner  ! '  He 
will  then  adniinister  to  you  baptism  under  condition 
{sub  conditione).  .  .  .  Being  now  baptized  and  re- 
ceived into  the  Church,  you  will  go  and  kneel  in  the 
Confessional  or  other  appointed  place  in  the  church 
to  make  your  confession,  and  to  receive  from  the 
priest  the  sacramental  absolution.  While  receiving 
absolntion  you  must  renew  your  sorrow  and  hatred  of 
sin,  and  your  resolution  to  amend,  making  a  sincere 
Act  of  Contrition." 

Then,  as  the  book  was  dropping  from  her  hand,  a 
few  paragraphs  further  on  her  eyes  caught  the  words : 

,"If  we  are  not  able  to  remember  the  exact  number 
of  our  sins,  it  is  enough  to  state  the  probable  number 
to  the  best  of  our  recollection  and  judgment,  saying: 
'  I  have  committed  that  sin  about  so  many  times  a 
day,  a  week,  or  a  month.'  Indeed,  we  are  bound  to 
reveal  our  conscience  to  the  priest  as  we  know  it  our- 
selves, there  and  then  stating  the  things  certain  as 
certain,  those  doubtful  as  doubtful,  and  the  probable 
number  as  probable." 

She  threw  away  the  book.  She  crouched  in  her 
chair  beside  Helbeck's  table,  her  small  face  buried 
despairingly  in  her  hands.  "I  can't  —  I  can't!  I 
would  if  I  could  —  I  can't ! " 

Through  the  shiver  of  an  invincible  repulsion  that 
held  her  spoke  a  hundred  things  —  things  inherited. 


EELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  167 

things  died  for,  things  wrought  out  by  the  moral 
experience  of  generations.  But  she  coukl  not  analyse 
them.     All  she  knew  were  the  two  words  —  ''I  can't." 

The  little  pony  took  them  merrily  through  the  gay 
October  woods.  Autumn  was  at  its  cheerfullest.  The 
crisp  leaves  under  foot,  the  tonic  earth  smells  in  the 
air,  the  wet  ivy  shining  in  the  sun,  the  growing  light- 
ness and  strength  of  the  trees  as  the  gold  or  red  leaf 
thinned  and  the  free  branching  of  the  great  oaks  or 
ashes  came  into  sight  —  all  these  belonged  to  the 
autumn  which  sings  and  vibrates,  and  can  in  a  flash 
disperse  and  drive  away  the  weeping  and  melancholy 
autumn. 

Laura's  bloom  revived.  Her  hair,  blown  about  her, 
glowed  and  shone  even  amid  the  gold  of  the  woods. 
Her  soft  lips,  her  eyes  called  back  their  fire.  Helbeck 
looked  at  her  in  a  delight  mingled  with  pain,  counting 
the  weeks  silently  till  she  became  his  very  own.  Only 
five  now  before  Advent ;  and  in  the  fifth  the  Church 
would  give  her  to  him,  grudgingly  indeed,  Avitli  scant 
ceremony  and  festivity,  like  a  mother  half  grieved, 
still  with  her  blessing,  which  must  content  him.  And 
beyond  ?  The  strong  man  —  stern  with  himself  and 
his  own  passion,  all  the  more  that  the  adored  one  was 
under  the  protection  of  his  roof,  and  yielded  thereby  to 
his  sight  and  wooing  more  freely  than  a  girl  in  hei 


168  IIELBECK  OF  liANNISDALE 

betrothal  is  commonly  yielded  to  her  lover  —  dared 
hardly  in  her  presence  evoke  the  thrill  of  that 
thought.  Instinctively  he  knew,  through  the  re- 
straints that  parted  them,  that  Laura  was  pure 
woman,  a  creature  ripe  for  the  subtleties  and  poetries 
of  passion.  Would  not  all  difficulties  find  their  solvent 
—  melt  in  a  golden  air  —  when  once  they  had  passed 
into  the  freedom  and  confidence  of  marriage  ? 

Meanwhile  the  difficulties  Avere  all  plain  to  him  — 
more  plain,  indeed,  than  ever.  He  could  not  flatter 
himself  that  she  looked  any  more  kindly  on  his  faith 
or  his  friends.  And  his  friends  —  or  some  of  them  — 
were,  to  say  the  truth,  pressing  him  hard.  Father 
Leadham  even,  his  director,  upon  whom  during  the 
earlier  stages  of  their  correspondence  on  the  matter 
Helbeck  seemed  to  have  impressed  his  own  waiting 
view  with  success,  had  lately  become  more  exacting 
and  more  peremptory.  The  Squire  was  uncomfortable 
at  the  thought  of  his  impending  visit.  It  was  hardly 
wise  —  had  better  have  been  deferred.  Laura's  quick, 
shrinking  look  when  it  was  announced  had  not  been 
lost  upon  her  lover.  Father  Leadham  should  be  con- 
vinced—  must  be  convinced  —  that  all  would  be  im- 
perilled—  nay,  lost  —  by  haste.  Yet  unconsciously 
Helbeck  himself  was  wavering — was  changing  ground. 

He  had  come  out,  indeed,  determined  somehow  to 
break  down  the  barrier  he  felt  rising  between  them. 
But  it  was  not  easy.    They  talked  for  long  of  the  most 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  169 

obvious  and  mundane  things.  Tliere  were  salmon  in 
the  Greet  this  month,  and  Helbeck  had  been  waging 
noble  war  with  them  in  the  intervals  of  much  busi- 
ness, with  Laura  often  beside  him,  to  join  in  the 
madness  of  the  "rushes"  down  stream,  to  watch  the 
fine  strength  of  her  lover's  wrist,  to  shrink  from 
the  gaffing,  and  to  count  the  spoil.  The  shooting 
days  at  Bannisdale  were  almost  done,  since  the  land 
had  dwindled  to  a  couple  of  thousand  acres,  much 
of  it  on  the  moss.  But  there  were  still  two  or 
three  poor  coverts  along  the  upper  edge  of  the  park, 
where  the  old  Irish  keeper  and  woodman,  Tim 
Murphy,  cherished  and  counted  the  few  score  pheas- 
ants that  provided  a  little  modest  November  sport. 
And  Helbeck,  tying  the  pony  to  a  tree,  went  up  now 
with  Laura  to  walk  round  the  woods,  showing  in  all 
his  comments  and  calculations  a  great  deal  of  shrewd 
woodcraft  and  beastcraft,  enough  to  prove  at  any  rate 
that  the  Esau  of  his  race  — /eras  consumere  nati,  to 
borrow  the  emendation  of  Mr.  Fielding  —  had  not  yet 
been  wholly  cast  out  by  the  Jacob  of  a  mystical  piety. 

Laura  tripped  and  climbed,  applauded  by  his  eye, 
helped  by  his  hand.  But  though  her  colour  came 
back,  her  spirits  were  still  to  seek.  She  was  often 
silent,  and  he  hardly  ever  spoke  to  her  without  feel- 
ing a  start  run  through  the  hand  he  held. 

His  grey  eye  tried  to  read  her,  but  in  vain.     At 


170  llELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

last  he  wooed  her  from  the  fell-side  where  they  were 
scrambling.     "Come  down  to  the  riv^er  and  rest." 

Hand  in  hand  they  descended  tlie  steep  slope  to 
that  rock-seat  where  he  had  found  her  on  the  morn- 
ing of  Easter  Sunday.  The  great  thorn  whicli  over- 
hung it  was  then  in  bud;  now  the  berries  which 
covered  the  tree  were  already  reddening  to  winter. 
Before  her  spread  the  silver  river,  running  to  lose 
itself  in  the  rocky  bosom  of  that  towering  scar  which 
closed  the  distance,  whereon,  too,  all  the  wealth  of 
the  woods  on  either  hand  converged  —  the  woods 
that  hid  the  outer  country,  and  all  that  was  not 
Bannisdale  and  Helbeck's. 

To-day,  however,  Laura  felt  no  young  passion  of 
pleasure  in  the  beauty  at  her  feet.  She  was  ill  at 
ease,  and  her  look  fled  his  as  he  glanced  up  to  her 
from  the  turf  where  he  had  thrown  himself. 

"Do  you  hke  me  to  read  your  books?"  she  said 
abruptly,  her  question  swooping  hawk-like  wpon  his 
and  driving  it  ofE  the  field. 

He  paused  —  to  consider,  and  to  smile. 

"I  don't  know.  I  believe  you  read  them  per- 
versely ! " 

"  I  know  what  you  read  this  morning.  Do  you  — 
do  you  think  St.  Francis  Borgia  was  a  very  admir- 
able person  ?  " 

"Well,  I  got  a  good  deal  of  edification  out  of 
him,"  said  Helbeck  quietly. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  171 

"Did  you?  Would  you  be  like  him  if  you  could  ? 
Do  you  remember  when  his  wife  was  very  ill,  and 
he  was  praying  for  her,  he  heard  a  voice  —  do  you 
remember  ?  " 

"Go  on,"  said  Helbeck,  nodding. 

"  And  the  voice  said,  '  If  thou  wouldst  have  the 
life  of  the  Duchess  prolonged,  it  shall  be  granted; 
but  it  is  not  expedient  for  thee'  —  ^thee,'  mind  — 
not  her !  When  he  heard  this,  he  was  penetrated  by 
a  most  tender  love  of  God,  and  burst  into  tears. 
Then  he  asked  God  to  do  as  He  pleased  with  the 
lives  of  his  wife  and  his  children  and  himself.  He 
gave  up — I  suppose  he  gave  up — praying  for  her. 
She  became  much  worse  and  died,  leaving  him  a 
widower  at  the  age  of  thirty-six.  Afterwards  — 
don't  please  interrupt !  —  in  the  space  of  three  years, 
he  disposed  somehow  of  all  his  eight  children  — 
some  of  them  I  reckoned  must  be  quite  babies  — 
took  the  vows,  became  a  Jesuit,  and  went  to  Rome. 
Do  you  approve  of  all  that  ?  " 

Helbeck  reddened.  "It  was  a  time  of  hard  fight- 
ing for  the  Church,"  he  said  gravely,  after  a  pause, 
"and  the  Jesuits  were  the  advance  guard.  In  such 
days  a  man  may  be  called  by  God  to  special  acts 
and  special  sacrifices." 

"  So  you  do  approve  ?  Papa  was  a  member  of  an 
Ethical    Society   at   Cambridge.      They   used    some* 


172  IIELBECE   OF  BANNISDALE 

times  to  discuss  special  things  —  whether  they  were 
right  or  wrong.  I  wonder  what  they  would  have 
said  to  St.  Francis  Borgia  ?  " 

Helbeck  smiled. 

"Mercifully,  darling,  the  ideals  of  the  Catholic 
Church  do  not  depend  upon  the  votes  of  Ethical 
Societies  ! " 

He  turned  his  handsome  head  towards  her.  His 
tone  was  perfectly  gentle,  but  behind  it  she  perceived 
the  breathing  of  a  contempt  before  which  she  first 
recoiled  —  then  sprang  in  revolt. 

"As  for  me,"  she  said,  panting  a  little,  "when  I 
finished  the  Life  this  morning  in  your  room,  I  felt 
like  Ivan  in  Browning's  poem  —  do  you  recollect?  — 
about  the  mother  who  threw  her  children  one  by 
one  to  the  wolves,  to  save  her  wretched  self  ?  I 
would  like  to  have  dropped  the  axe  on  St.  Francis 
Borgia's  neck  —  just  one  —  little  —  clean  cut !  — 
while  he  was  saying  his  prayers,  and  enjoying  his 
burning  love,  and  all  the  rest  of  it ! " 

Helbeck  was  silent,  nor  could  she  see  his  face, 
which  was  again  turned  from  her  towards  the  river. 
The  eager  feverish  voice  went  on : 

"Do  you  know  that's  the  kind  of  thing  you  read 
always  —  always  —  day  after  day  ?  And  it's  just  the 
same  now !  That  girl  of  twenty-three,  Augustina 
was  talking  of,  who  is  going  into  a  convent,  and  her 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  173 

mother  only  died  last  year,  and  there  are  six  younger 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  her  father  says  it  will  break 
his  heart  —  she  must  have  been  reading  about  St. 
Francis  Borgia.  Perhaps  she  felt  'burning  love' 
and  had  '  floods  of  tears.'  But  Ivan  with  his  axe  — 
that's  the  person  I'd  bring  in,  if  I  could ! " 

Still  not  a  word  from  the  man  beside  her.  She 
hesitated  a  moment  —  felt  a  sob  of  excitement  in  her 
throat  —  bent  forward  and  touched  his  shoulder. 

"  Suppose  —  suppose  I  were  to  be  ill  —  dying  — 
and  the  voice  came,  '  Let  her  go !  She  is  in  your 
way;  it  would  be  better  for  you  she  should  die'  — 
would  you  just  let  go?  —  see  me  drop,  drop,  drop, 
through  all  eternity,  to  make  your  soul  safe  ?  " 

"Laura!"  cried  a  strong  voice.  And,  with  a 
spring,  Helbeck  was  beside  her,  capturing  both  her 
cold  hands  in  one  of  his,  a  mingled  tenderness  and 
wrath  flashing  from  him  before  which  she  shrank. 
But  though  she  drew  away  from  him  —  her  small  face 
so  white  below  the  broad  black  hat!  —  she  was  not 
quelled.  Before  he  could  speak,  she  had  said  in 
sharp  separate  words,  hardly  above  a  whisper : 

"It  is  that  horrible  egotism  of  religion  that  poisons 
everything!  And  if  — if  one  shared  it,  well  and 
good,  one  might  make  terms  with  it,  like  a  wild 
thing  one  had  tamed.  But  outside  it,  and  at  war 
with  it,  what  can  one  do  but  hate  —  hate  —  Icate  —  it ! " 


174  IIKLBECK   OF  BAjyuWISDALE 

"My  God!"  he  said  in  bewilderment,  "where  am 
I  to  begin  ?  " 

He  stared  at  her  with  a  passionate  amazement. 
Never  before  had  she  shown  such  forces  of  personal- 
ity, or  been  able  to  express  herself  with  an  utterance 
so  mature  and  resonant.  Her  stature  had  grown 
before  his  eyes.  In  the  little  fi'owning  figure  there 
was  something  newly,  tragically  fine.  The  man  for 
the  first  time  felt  his  match.  His  own  hidden  self 
rose  at  last  to  the  struggle  with  a  kind  of  angry  joy, 
eager  at  once  to  conquer  the  woman  and  to  pierce  the 
sceptic. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Laura !  "  he  said,  bending  over  her. 
"That  was  more  than  I  can  bear  —  that  calls  me  out 
of  my  tent.  I  have  tried  to  keep  my  poor  self  out  of 
sight,  but  it  has  rights.  You  have  challenged  it. 
Will  you  take  the  consequences  ?  " 

She  trembled  before  the  pale  concentration  of  his 
face  and  bent  her  head. 

"I  Avill  tell  you,"  he  said  in  a  low  determined  voice, 
"the  only  story  that  a  man  truly  knows  —  the  story 
of  his  own  soul.     You  shall  know^  —  what  you  hate." 

And,  after  a  pause  of  thought,  Helbeck  made  one  of 
the  great  efforts  of  his  life. 

He  did  not  fully  know  indeed  what  it  was  that  he 
luul  undertaken,  till  the  wave  of  emotion  had  gathered 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  17'> 

through  all  the  inmost  chambers  of  memory,  and  was 
bearing  outward  in  one  great  tide  the  secret  nobilities, 
the  hidden  poetries,  the  unconscious  weaknesses,  of  a 
nature  no  less  narrow  than  profound,  no  less  full  of 
enmities  than  of  loves. 

But  gradually  from  hurried  or  broken  begin- 
nings the  narrative  rose  to  clearness  and  to 
strength. 

The  first  impressions  of  a  lonely  childhood;  the 
first  workings  of  the  family  history  upon  his  boyish 
sense,  like  the  faint,  perpetual  touches  of  an  unseen 
hand  moulding  the  will  and  the  character ;  the  picture 
of  his  patient  mother  on  her  sofa,  surrounded  with  her 
little  religious  books,  twisted  and  tormented,  yet  al- 
ways smiling;  his  early  collisions  with  his  morose 
and  half-educated  father  —  he  passed  from  these  to 
the  days  of  his  first  Communion,  the  beginnings  of 
the  personal  life.  "But  I  had  very  little  fervour 
then,  such  as  many  boys  feel.  I  did  not  doubt  —  I 
would  not  have  shown  any  disrespect  to  my  religion 
for  the  world,  mostly,  I  think,  from  family  pride — • 
:  but  I  felt  no  ardour,  and  did  not  pretend  any.  My 
mother  sometimes  shed  tears  over  it,  and  was  com- 
forted by  her  old  confessor  —  so  she  told  me  when  she 
was  dying — who  used  to  say  to  her:  'Feeling  is 
good,  but  obedience  is  better.  He  obeys  ; '  for  I  did 
all  my  religious  duties  without  difficulty.     Then  at 


176  EELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

thirteen  I  Avas  sent  to  Stonyhurst.     And  there,  after  a 
while,  God  began  His  work  in  me." 

He  paused  a  moment;  and  when  he  resumed,  his 
voice  shook : 

"Among  the  masters  there  was  a  certain  Father 
Lewin.  He  took  an  affection  for  jue,  and  I  for  him. 
xie  was  even  then  a  dying  man,  but  he  accomplished 
more,  and  was  more  severe  to  himself,  than  any  man 
in  health  I  ever  knew.  So  long  as  he  lived,  he  nuide 
the  path  of  religion  easy  to  me.  He  was  the  super- 
natural life  before  my  eyes.  I  had  only  to  open  them 
and  see.  The  only  difference  between  us  was  that  I 
began  —  first  out  of  love  for  him,  I  suppose  —  to  have 
a  great  wish  to  become  a  Jesuit ;  whereas  he  was 
against  it  —  he  thought  there  were  too  many  special 
claims  upon  me  here.  Then,  when  I  was  eighteen,  he 
died.  I  had  seen  him  the  day  before,  when  there 
seemed  to  be  no  clanger,  or  they  concealed  it  from  me. 
But  in  the  night  I  was  called,  too  late  to  hear  him 
speak ;  he  was  already  in  his  'agony.  The  sight  terri- 
fied me.  I  had  expected  something  much  more  con- 
soling—  more  beautiful.  For  a  long  time  I  could  not 
shake  off  the  impression,  the  misery  of  it." 

He  was  silent  again  for  a  minute.  He  still  held 
Laura's  hands  close,  as  though  there  was  something  in 
their  touch  that  spurred  him  on. 

"  After  his  death  I  got  my  father's  leave  to  go  and 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  111 

study  at  Louvain.  I  passed  there  the  most  wretched 
years  of  my  life.  Father  Lewin's  death  had  thrown 
me  into  an  extraordinary  dejection,  which  seemed  to 
have  taken  from  me  all  the  joy  of  my  faith;  but  at 
Louvain  I  came  very  near  to  losing  it  altogether.  It 
came,  I  think,  from  the  reading  of  some  French  scepti- 
cal books  the  first  year  I  was  there;  but  I  went 
through  a  horror  and  anguish.  Often  I  used  to 
wander  for  a  whole  day  along  the  Scheldt,  or  across 
lonely  fields  where  no  one  could  see  me,  lost  in  what 
seemed  to  me  a  fight  with  devils.  The  most  horrible 
blasphemies  —  the  most  subtle,  the  most  venomous 
thoughts  —  ah!  well  —  by  God's  grace,  I  never  gave 
up  Confession  and  Communion  —  at  long  intervals, 
indeed  —  but  still  I  held  to  them.  The  old  Passionist 
father,  ray  director,  did  not  understand  much  about 
me.  I  seemed,  indeed,  to  have  no  friends.  I  lived 
shut  up  with  my  own  thoughts.  The  only  comfort 
and  relief  I  got  was  from  painting.  I  loved  the 
studio  where  I  worked,  poor  as  my  own  attempts  were. 
It  seemed  often  to  be  the  only  thing  between  me  and 
madness.  .  .  ,  Well,  the  first  relief  came  in  a  strange 
way.  I  was  visiting  one  of  the  professors,  an  old 
Canon  of  the  Cathedral,  on  a  June  evening.  The 
Bishop  of  the  See  was  very  ill,  and  while  I  was  with 
the  Canon  word  came  round  to  summon  the  Chap- 
ter to  assist  at  the  administration  of  the  last  Sacra- 

VOL.    II.  N 


178  UELBECK  OF  liANNISDALE 

ments,  and  to  hear  the  sick  man's  Profession  of  Faith. 
The  okl  Canon  had  been  good  to  me.  I  don't  know 
whether  he  suspected  what  was  wrong  with  me.  At 
any  rate,  he  laid  a  kind  hand  on  my  arm.  'Come 
with  me,'  he  said;  and  I  went  with  him  into  the 
Bishop's  residence.  I  can  see  the  old  house  now  —  the 
black  panelled  stairs  and  passages,  and  the  shadow  of 
the  great  church  outside. 

"In  the  Bishop's  room  were  gathered  all  the 
canons  in  their  white  robes ;  there  was  an  altar 
blazing  with  lights,  the  windows  were  wide  open  to 
the  dusk,  and  the  cathedral  bell  was  tolling.  We 
all  knelt,  and  Monseigneur  received  the  Viaticum. 
He  was  fully  vested.  I  could  just  see  his  venerable 
white  head  on  the  pillow.  After  the  Communion 
one  of  the  canons  knelt  by  him  and  recited  the  Creed 
of  Pope  Pius  IV." 

Laura  started.  But  Helbeck  did  not  notice  the 
sudden  tremulous  movement  of  the  hands  lying  in 
his.  He  was  sitting  rigidly  upright,  the  eyes  half 
closed,  his  mind  busy  with  the  past. 

"And  as  he  recited  it,  the  bands  that  held  my 
own  heart  seemed  to  break.  I  had  not  been  able 
to  approach  any  clause  of  that  creed  for  months 
without  danger  of  blasphemy ;  and  now  —  it  was 
like  a  bird  escaped  from  the  nets.  The  snare  is 
broken  —  and    we  are    delivered!      The    dying    man 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  179 

raised  his  voice  iu  a  last  effort ;  lie  repeated  tlie 
oath  with  which  the  Creed  ends.  The  Gospels  were 
handed  to  him  ;  he  kissed  them  with  fervour.  *  Sic 
me  Deus  ailjuvet,  et  Sancta  Dei  Evaiigelia.'  'So 
may  God  help  me,  and  His  Holy  Gospels  ! '  I  joined 
in  the  words  mentally,  overcome  with  joy.  l)efore 
me,  as  in  a  vision,  had  risen  the  majesty  and  glory  of 
the  Catholic  Church;  I  felt  her  foundations  once  more 
under  my  feet." 

He  drew  a  long  breath.  Then  he  turned.  Laura 
felt  his  eyes  upon  her,  as  though  in  doubt.  She 
herself  neither  moved  nor  spoke ;  she  was  all  hear- 
ing, absorbed  in  a  passionate  prescience  of  things 
more  vital  yet  to  come. 

''Laura!"  —  his  voice  dropped- — "1  w^ant  you  to 
know  it  all,  to  understand  me  through  and  through. 
I  will  try  that  there  shall  not  be  a  word  to  offend 
you.  That  scene  T  have  described  to  you  was  for 
me  only  the  beginning  of  another  apostasy.  I  had 
no  longer  the  excuse  of  doubt.  I  believed  and  trem- 
bled. But  for  two  years  after  that,  I  was  every  day 
on  the  brink  of  ruining  my  own  soul  —  and  another's. 
The  first,  the  only  woman  I  ever  loved  before  I  saw 
you,  Laura,  I  loved  in  defiance  of  all  law — God's 
or  man's.  If  she  had  struggled  one  heartbeat  less, 
if  God  had  let  me  wander  one  hair's  l)readtli  farther 
from    His   liand,    we   had    both    made    shipwreck  — 


180  UELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

hopeless,  eternal  shipwreck.  Laura,  my  little  Laura, 
am  T  liurting  you  so?" 

She  gave  a  little  sob,  and  mutely,  with  shut  eyes, 
she  raised  her  face  towards  him.  He  stooped  and  very 
tenderly  and  gravely  kissed  her  cheek. 

"  But  God's  mercy  did  not  fail  !  "  he  said  or  rather 
murmured.  "At  the  last  moment  that  woman —  God 
rest  her  soul !  —  God  bless  her  for  ever  ! " 

He  took  off  his  hat,  and  bent  forward  silently  for  a 
moment. 

—  "  She  died,  Laura,  more  than  ten  years  ago !  —  At 
the  last  moment  she  saved  both  herself  and  me.  She 
sent  for  one  of  my  old  Jesuit  masters  at  Stonyhurst,  a 
man  who  had  been  a  great  friend  of  Father  Lewin's 
and  happened  to  be  at  that  moment  in  Brussels. 
He  came.  He  brought  me  her  last  farewell,  and  he 
asked  me  to  go  back  with  him  that  evening  to  join 
a  retreat  that  he  was  holding  in  one  of  the  houses  of 
the  order  near  Brussels.  I  went  in  a  sullen  state, 
stunned  and  for  the  moment  submissive. 

"  But  the  retreat  was  agony.  I  could  take  part  in 
nothing.  I  neglected  the  prescribed  hours  and  duties ; 
it  was  as  though  my  mind  could  not  take  them  in, 
and  I  soon  saw  that  I  was  disturbing  others. 

"  One  evening  —  I  was  by  myself  in  the  garden  at 
recreation  hour  —  the  father  who  was  holding  the  re- 
treat came  up  to  me,  and  sternly  asked  me  to  withdraw 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  181 

at  once.  I  looked  at  liim.  '  Will  you  give  me  one 
more  day  ? '  I  said.  He  agreed.  He  seemed  touched. 
I  must  have  appeared  to  him  a  miserable  creature. 

"  Next  day  this  same  father  was  conducting  a  medi- 
tation —  on  '  the  condescension  of  Jesus  in  the  Blessed 
Sacrament.'  I  was  kneeling,  half  stupefied,  when  I 
heard  him  tell  a  stwy  of  the  Cure  d'Ars.  After  the 
procession  of  Corpus  Christi,  which  was  very  long  and 
fatiguing,  someone  pressed  the  Cure  to  take  food.  '  I 
want  nothing, '  he  said.  '  How  could  I  be  tired  ?  I 
was  bearing  Him  who  bears  me!'  'My  brothers,' 
said  Father  Stuart,  turning  to  the  altar,  'the  Lord 
who  bore  the  sin  of  the  whole  world  on  the  Cross,  who 
opens  the  arms  of  His  mercy  now  to  each  separate 
sinful  soul,  is  there.  He  beseeches  you  by  me, 
"  Choose,  My  children,  between  the  world  and  Me,  be- 
tween sin  and  Me,  between  Hell  and  Me.  Your  souls 
are  Mine :  I  bought  them  Avith  anguish  and  tears. 
Why  will  ye  noAv  hold  them  back  from  Me  —  where- 
fore will  ye  die  ?  " ' 

"My  whole  being  seemed  to  be  shaken  by  these 
words.  But  I  instantly  thought  of  Marie.  I  said  to 
myself,  '  She  is  alone  —  perhaps  in  despair.  How  can 
I  save  myself,  wretched  tempter  and  coward  that  I  am, 
and  leave  her  in  remorse  and  grief  ? '  And  then  it 
seemed  to  me  as  though  a  Voice  came  from  the  altar 
itself,  so  sweet  and  penetrating  that  it  overpowered 


182  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

the  voice  of  the  preacher  and  the  movements  of  my 
companions.  I  heard  nothing  in  the  chapel  but  It 
alone.  '  She  is  saved ! '  It  said  —  and  again  and  again, 
as  though  in  joy,  '  She  is  saved —  saved ! ' 

"That  night  I  crept  to  the  foot  of  the  crucifix  in 
my  little  cell.  '  Elegi,  elegi  :  remintio ! '  —  I  have 
chosen:  I  renounce.'  All  night-long  those  alternate 
words  seemed  to  be  wrung  from  me.  " 

There  was  deep  silence.  Helbeck  knelt  on  the  grass 
beside  Laura  and  took  her  hands  afresh. 

"  Laura,  since  that  night  I  have  been  mj  Lord's.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  He  had  come  Himself  —  come  from 
His  cross  —  to  raise  two  souls  from  the  depths  of  Hell. 
Marie  went  into  a  convent,  and  died  in  peace  and 
blessedness;  I  came  home  here,  to  do  my  duty  if  I 
could  —  and  save  my  soul.  That  seems  to  you  a  mere 
selfish  bargain  with  God  —  an  'egotism' — that  you 
hate.  But  look  at  the  root  of  it.  Is  the  world  under 
sin  —  and  has  a  God  died  for  it  ?  All  my  nature  — 
2ny  intellect,  my  heart,  my  willj  answer  'Yes.'  But  if 
a  God  died,  and  must  die  —  cruelly,  hideously,  at  the 
hands  of  His  creatures  —  to  satisfy  eternal  justice, 
what  must  that  sin  be  that  demands  the  Crucifixion  ? 
Of  what  revolt,  what  ruin  is  not  the  body  capable  ?  I 
knew  —  for  I  had  gone  down  into  the  depths.  Is  any 
chastisement  too  heavy,  any  restraint  too  harsh,  if  it 
keep  us  from  the   sin  for  Avhich  our  Lord  must  die  ? 


IlELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  183 

And  if  He  died,  are  we  not  His  from  the  first  moment 
of  our  birth  —  His  first  of  all  ?  Is  it  a  selfish  bargain 
to  yield  Him  what  He  purchased  at  such  a  cost,  to 
take  care  that  our  just  debt  to  Him  is  paid  —  so  far  as 
our  miserable  humanity  can  pay  it.  All  these  morti- 
fications, and  penances,  and  self-denials  that  you  bate 
so,  that  make  the  saints  so  odious  in  your  eyes,  spring 
from  two  great  facts  —  Sin  and  the  Crucifixion.  But, 
Laura,  are  they  true?" 

He  spoke  in  a  low,  calm  voice,  yet  Laura  knew  well 
that  his  life  was  poured  into  each  word.  She  herself 
did  not,  could  not,  speak.  But  it  seemed  to  her 
strangely  that  some  spring  within  her  was  broken  — 
some  great  decision  had  been  taken,  by  whom  she 
could  not  tell. 

He  looked  with  alarm  at  her  pallor  and  silence. 

"Laura,  those  are  the  hard  and  awful  —  to  us  Catho- 
lics, the  majestic  —  facts  on  which  our  religion  stands. 
Accept  them,  and  nothing  else  is  really  difficult.  Mir- 
acles, the  protection  of  the  saints,  the  mysteries  of 
the  sacraments,  the  place  that  Catholics  give  to  Our 
Lady,  the  support  of  an  infallible  Church — what  so 
easy  and  natural  if  these  be  true  ?  .  .  .  Sin  and  its 
Divine  Victim,  penance,  regulation  of  life,  death,  judg- 
ment —  Catholic  thought  moves  perpetually  from  one 
of  these  ideas  to  another.  As  to  many  other  thoughts 
and  beliefs,  it  is  free  to  us  as  to  other  men  to  take  or 


184  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

leave,  to  think  or  not  to  think.  The  Church,  like  a 
tender  mother,  offers  to  her  children  an  innumovable 
variety  of  holy  aids,  consolations,  encouragements. 
These  may  or  may  not  be  of  faith.  Tlie  Crucifix  is 
the  Catholic  Faith.  In  that  the  Catholic  sees  the 
Love  that  brought  a  God  to  die,  the  Sin  that  infects 
his  own  soul.  To  requite  that  love,  to  purge  that  sin 
—  there  lies  the  whole  task  of  the  Catholic  life." 

He  broke  off  again,  anxiously  studying  the  drooping 
face  so  near  to  him.  Then  gently  he  put  his  arm 
round  her,  and  drew  her  to  him  till  her  brow  rested 
against  his  shoulder. 

"Laura,  does  it  seem  very  hard  —  very  awful  —  to 
you  ?  " 

She  moved  imperceptibly,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"  It  may  well.  The  way  is  strait !  But,  Laura,  you 
see  it  from  without  —  T  from  within.  Won't  you  take 
my  word  for  the  sweetness,  the  reward,  and  the  merci- 
fulness of  God's  dealings  with  our  souls  ?  "  He  drew 
a  long  agitated  breath.  "Take  my  own  case  —  take 
our  love.  You  remember,  Laura,  when  you  sat  here 
on  Easter  Sunday?  I  came  from  Communion  and  I 
found  you  here.  You  disliked  and  despised  my  faith 
and  me.  But  as  you  sat  here,  I  loved  you  —  my  eyes 
were  first  opened.  The  night  of  the  dance,  when  you 
went  upstairs,  I  took  iny  own  heart  and  offered  it. 
You    did   not    love   me    then:    how    could    I    dream 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  185 

you  ever  would?  The  sacrifice  was  mine;  I  tried 
to  yield  it.  But  it  was  not  His  will.  I  made  my 
struggle  —  you  made  yours.  He  drew  us  to  each 
other.     Then " 

He  faltered,  looked  down  upon  her  in  doubt. 

"Since  then,  Laura,  so  many  strange  things  have 
happened !  Who  was  I  that  I  should  teach  anybody  ? 
I  shrank  from  laying  the  smallest  touch  on  your  free- 
dom. I  thought,  'Gradually,  of  her  own  will,  she 
will  come  nearer.  The  Truth  will  plead  for  itself.' 
My  duty  is  to  trust,  and  wait.  But,  Laura,  what  have 
I  seen  in  you?  Not  indifference  —  not  contempt  — 
never !  But  a  long  storm,  a  trouble,  a  conflict,  that 
has  filled  me  with  confusion  —  overthrown  all  my  own 
hopes  and  plans.  Laura,  my  love,  my  sweet,  why  does 
our  Faith  hurt  you  so  much  if  it  means  nothing  to 
you  ?  Is  there  not  already  some  tenderness  "  —  his 
voice  dropped  —  "behind  the  scorn?  Could  it  tor- 
ment you  if  —  if  it  had  not  gained  some  footing  in 
your  heart  ?     Laura,  speak  to  me  ! " 

She  slowly  drew  away  from  him.  Gently  she  shook 
her  head.     Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

But  the  strange  look  of  power  —  almost  of  triumph  — 
on  Helbeck's  face  remained  unaltered.  She  shrank 
before  it. 

"Laura,  you  don't  know  yourself!  But  no  matter  ! 
Only,  will  you  forgive  me  if  you  feel  a  change  in  me  ? 


18G  HELBECK  OF  JiANNISDALE 

Till  now  I  have  sliniuk  from  fighting  yon.  Tt  seemed 
to  nie  that  an  ugly  habit  of  words  might  easily  grow  up 
that  would  poison  all  our  future.  But  now  I  feel  in  it 
something  more  than  words.  If  you  challenge,  Laura, 
I  shall  meet  it!     If  you  strike,  I  shall  return  it." 

He  took  her  hands  once  more.  His  bright  eye 
looked  for  —  demanded  an  answer.  Her  own  person- 
ality, for  all  its  daring,  wavered  and  fainted  before  the 
attacking  force  of  his. 

But  Helbeck  received  no  assurance  of  it.  She  showed 
none  of  that  girlish  yielding  which  woixld  have  been  so 
natural  and  so  delightful  to  her  lover.  Without  any 
direct  answer  to  his  appeal  or  his  threat,  she  lifted  to 
him  a  look  that  was  far  from  easy  to  read  —  a  look  of 
passionate  sadness  and  of  pure  love.  Her  delicate  face 
seemed  to  float  towards  him,  and  her  lips  breathed. 

"I  was  not  worthy  you  should  tell  me  a  word. 
But  — "  It  was  some  time  before  she  could  go  on. 
Then  she  said  Avith  sudden  haste,  the  colour  rushing 
back  into  her  cheeks,  "  It  is  the  most  sacred  honour  that 
was  ever  done  me.     I  thank  —  thank  —  tha,nk  you  !  " 

And  with  her  eyes  still  fixed  upon  his  countenance, 
and  all  those  deep  traces  that  the  last  half  hour  had 
left  upon  it,  she  raised  his  hand  and  pressed  her  soft 
quivering  mouth  upon  it. 

Never  had  Helbeck  been  filled  with  such  a  tender 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  187 

and  hopeful  joy  as  in  the  hours  that  followed  this 
scene  between  them.  Father  Leadham  arrived  in  time 
for  dinner.  Laura  treated  him  with  a  gentleness,  even 
a  sweetness,  that  from  the  first  moment  filled  the 
Jesuit  with  a  secret  astonishment.  She  was  very 
pale ;  her  exhaustion  was  evident. 

But  Helbeck  silenced  his  sister ;  and  he  surrounded 
Laura  with  a  devotion  that  had  few  words,  that  never 
made  her  conspicuous,  and  yet  was  jnore  than  she  could 
bear. 

Augustina  insisted  on  her  going  to  bed  early.  Hel- 
beck went  upstairs  with  her  to  the  first  landing,  to 
light  her  candle. 

N'othing  stirred  in  the  old  house.  Father  Leadham 
and  Augustina  were  in  the  drawing-room.  They  two 
stood  alone  among  the  shadows  of  tlie  panelling,  the 
solitary  candle  shining  on  her  golden  hair  and  white 
dress. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Laura,"  said  Hel- 
beck in  a  disturbed  voice. 

She  looked  up. 

"I  can't  save  the  Romney,  dear.  I've  tried  my  very 
best.     Will  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

She  smiled,  and  put  her  hand  timidly  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Ask  her,  rather!     I  know  you  tried.    Good-night." 

And  then  suddenly,  to  his  astonishment,  she  threw 


188  IIELBECK    OF  BANNISDALE 

both  her  arms  roinid  liis  neck,  and,  like  a  ehihl  that 
nestles  to  another  in  penitence  or  for  protection,  she 
kissed  his  breast  passionately,  repeatedly. 

"  Laura,  this  can't  be  borne !  Look  np,  beloved ! 
Why  should  my  coat  be  so  blessed  ? "  he  said,  half 
laughing,  yet  deeply  moved,  as  he  bent  above  her. 

She  disengaged  herself,  and,  as  she  mounted  the 
stairs,  she  waved  her  hand  to  him.  As  she  passed 
out  of  his  sight  she  was  a  vision  of  gentleness. 
The  woman  had  suddenly  blossomed  from  the  girl. 
When  Helbeck  descended  the  stairs  after  she  had 
vanished,  his  heart  beat  with  a  happiness  he  had 
never  yet  known. 

And  she,  when  she  reached  her  own  room,  she  let 
her  arms  drop  rigidly  by  her  side.  "  It  would  be  a 
crime  —  a  cri7ne  —  to  marry  him,"  she  said,  with  a 
dull  resolve  that  was  beyond  weeping. 

Helbeck  and  Father  Leadham  sat  long  together 
after  Augustina  had  retired.  There  was  an  argument 
between  them  in  which  the  Jesuit  at  last  won  the 
victory.  Helbeck  was  persuaded  to  a  certain  course 
against  his  judgment  —  to  some  extent  against  his 
conscience. 

Next  morning  the  Squire  left  Bannisdale  early. 
He  was  to  be  away  two  days  on  important  business. 
Before   he   left   he   reluctantly  told   his   sister   that 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  189 

the  Komney  would  probably  be  vemoved  before  Lis 
return  by  the  dealer  to  whom  it  had  been  sold. 
Laura  did  not  appear  at  breakfast,  and  Helbeck  left 
a  written  word  of  farewell,  that  Augustina  delivered. 

Meantime  Father  Leadham  remained  as  the  guest 
of  the  ladies.  In  the  afternoon  he  joined  Miss  Foun- 
tain in  the  garden,  and  they  walked  up  and  down 
the  bowling-green  for  some  time  together.  Augus- 
tina, in  the  deep  window  of  the  drawing-room,  was 
excitedly  aware  of  the  fact. 

When  the  two  companions  came  in,  Father  Lead- 
ham  after  a  time  rejoined  Mrs.  Fountain.  She 
looked  at  him  with  eagerness.  But  his  fine  and 
scholarly  face  was  more  discomposed  than  she  had 
ever  seen  it.  And  the  few  words  that  he  said  to  her 
were  more  than  enough. 

Laura  meanwhile  went  to  her  own  room,  and  shut 
herself  up  there.  Her  cheeks  were  glowing,  her  eyes 
angry.  "  He  promised  me ! "  she  said,  as  she  sat 
down  to  her  writing-table. 

But  she  could  not  stay  there.  She  got  up  and 
walked  restlessly  about  the  room.  After  half  an 
hour's  fruitless  conversation.  Father  Leadham  had 
been  betrayed  into  an  expression  —  hardly  that  —  a 
shade  of  expression,  which  had  set  the  girl's  nature 
aflame.  What  it  meant  was,  "  So  this ; —  is  your 
answer  —  to  the  chivalry  of  Mr.  Helbeck's  behaviour 


190  IIELBFJ  K    OF  BANNISDALE 

—  to  the  delicacy  which  eonhl  g-o  to  such  lengths  in 
protecting  a  young  lady  from  her  own  folly?"  The 
meaning  was  conveyed  by  a  look  —  an  inflection  — 
hardly  a  phrase.  l>ut  Laura  understood  it  perfectly  ; 
and  when  Father  Leadhani  returned  to  IVIrs.  Fountain 
he  guiltily  knew  what  he  had  done,  and,  being  a  man 
in  general  of  great  tact  and  finesse,  he  hardly  knew 
whom  to  blame  most,  himself,  or  the  girl  who  had 
imperceptibly  and  yet  deeply  provoked  him. 

That  evening  Laura  told  her  stepmother  that  she 
must  go  up  to  London  the  following  day,  by  the 
early  afternoon  train,  on  some  shopping  business, 
and  would  stay  the  night  with  her  friend  Molly 
Friedland.  Augustina  fretfully  acquiesced;  and  the 
evening  was  spent  by  Mrs.  Fountain  at  any  rate,  in 
trying  to  console  herself  by  much  broken  talk  of 
frocks  and  winter  fashions,  while  Laura  gave  occa- 
sional answers,  and  Father  Leadham  on  a  distant 
sofa  buried  himself  in  the  "Tablet." 

" Gone ! " 

The  word  was  Laura's.  She  had  been  busy  in 
her  room,  and  had  come  hurriedly  downstairs  to 
fetch  her  work-bag  from  the  drawing-room.  As  she 
crossed  the  threshold,  she  saw  that  the  picture  had 
been  taken  down.  Indeed,  the  van  containing  it  was 
just  driving  through  the  park. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  191 

White  and  faltering,  the  girl  came  up  to  the  wall 
whence  the  beautiful  lady  had  just  been  removed, 
and  leant  her  head  against  it.  She  raised  her  hand 
to  her  eyes.  "  Good-bye,"  said  the  inner  sense  — 
"  Good-bye  ! "  And  the  strange  link  which  from  the 
first  moment  almost  had  seemed  to  exist  between 
that  radiant  daughter  of  Bannisdale  and  herself 
snapped  and  fell  away,  carrying  how  much  else 
with  it ! 

About  an  hour  before  Laura's  departiire  there  was 
a  loud  knock  at  her  door,  and  Mrs.  Denton  appeared. 
The  woman  was  pale  with  rage.  Mrs.  Fountain,  in 
much  trepidation,  had  just  given  her  notice,  and  the 
housekeeper  had  not  been  slow  to  guess  from  what 
quarter  the  blow  had  fallen. 

Laura  turned  round  bewildered.  But  she  was  too 
late  to  stop  the  outbreak.  In  the  course  of  five 
minutes'  violent  speech  Mrs.  Denton  wiped  out  the 
grievances  of  six  months ;  she  hurled  the  gossip  of 
a  country-side  on  Laura's  head;  and  in  her  own 
opinion  she  finally  avenged  the  cause  of  the  Church 
and  of  female  decorum  upon  the  little  infidel  advent- 
uress that  had  stolen  away  the  wits  and  conscience 
of  the  Squire. 

Miss  Fountain,  after  a  first  impatient  murmur, 
"  I    might    have    remembered  !  "  —  stood   without    a 


192  llELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

word,  "with  eyes  cast  down,  and  a  little  scornful 
smile  on  her  colourless  lips.  When  at  last  she  had 
shut  the  door  on  her  assailant,  a  great  quivering 
sigh  rose  from  the  girl's  breast.  Was  it  the  last 
touch?  r>ut  she  said  nothing.  She  brushed  away 
a  tear  that  had  unconsciously  risen,  and  went  back 
to  her  packing. 

"Just  wait  a  moment!"  said  Miss  Fountain  to 
old  Wilson,  who  was  driving  her  across  the  bridge 
on  her  way  to  the  station.  "  I  want  to  get  a  bunch 
of  those  berries  by  the  water.  Take  the  pony  up 
the  hill.     I'll  join  you  at  the  top." 

Old  Wilson  drove  on.  Laura  climbed  a  stile  and 
slipped  down  to  the  waterside. 

The  river,  full  with  autumn  rain,  came  foaming 
down.  The  leaf  was  falling  fast.  Through  the 
woods  on  the  further  bank  she  could  just  distinguish 
a  gable  of  the  old  house. 

A  moan  broke  from  her.  She  stooped  and  buried 
her  face  in  the  grass  —  his  grass. 

When   she   returned  to  the   road,    she   looked   for 
the  letter-box  in  the  wall  of  the  bridge,  and,  walking 
up  to  it,  she  dropped  into  it  two  letters.     Then  she 
stood  a  moment  with   bent   brows.     Had   she   made      j 
all  arrangements  for  Augustina  ?  ) 

But  she  dared  not  let  herself  think  of  the  morrow. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  193 

She  set  her  face  to  the  hill  —  trudging  steadily  up 
the  wet,  solitary  road.  Once  —  twice  —  she  turned 
to  look.  Then  the  high  trees  that  arched  over  the 
top  of  the  hill  received  the  little  form ;  she  dis- 
ajjpeared  into  their  shadow. 

VOL.    II.  — o 


1 


BOOK   Y 


BOOK  V 

CHAPTER  I 

"  My  dear,  where  are  the  girls  ?  " 

The  speaker  was  Dr.  Fi-iedlancl,  the  only  intimate 
friend  Stephen  Fountain  had  ever  made  at  Cam- 
bridge. The  person  addressed  was  Dr.  Friedland's 
wife. 

On  hearing  her  husband's  question,  that  lady's 
gentle  and  benevolent  countenance  emerged  from  the 
folds  of  a  newspaper.  It  was  the  "first  mild  day 
of  March,"  and  she  and  her  husband  had  been  en- 
joying an  after-breakfast  chat  in  the  garden  of  a 
Cambridge  villa. 

"Molly  is  arranging  the  flowers;  Laura  has  had 
a  long  letter  from  Mrs.  Fountain,  and  is  now,  I  be- 
lieve, gone  to  answer  it." 

"Then  I  shan't  enjoy  my  lunch,"  said  Dr.  Fried- 
land  pensively. 

He  was  an  elderly  gentleman,  with  a  short  beard 
and  moustache  turning  to  white,  particularly  black 
eyes,  and  a  handsome  brow.  His  wife  had  put  a 
rug  over  his  shoulders,  and  another  over  his  knees, 

197 


108  11  EL  BECK    OF  BANNISDALE 

before  she  allowetl  liiiu  the  "Times"  and  a  cigarette. 
Ainid  the  ample  fokls  of  these  draperies,  he  had  a 
Jove-like  and  benignant  air. 

His  wife  inquired  what  difference  Miss  Fountain's 
correspondence  would  or  could  make  to  her  host's 
luncheon. 

"  Because  she  won't  eat  any,"  said  the  doctor,  with 
a  sigh,  "and  I  find  it  infectious." 

Mrs.  Friedland  laid  down  her  newspaper. 

"There  is  no  doubt  she  is  worried  —  about  Mrs. 
Fountain." 

"  E  tutti  quantiy  said  the  doctor,  humming  a  tune. 
"  My  dear,  it  is  surprising  what  an  admiration  I  find 
myself  possessed  of  for  Sir  John  Pringle." 

"  Sir  John  Pringle  ? "  said  the  lady,  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

"Bozzy,  my  dear  —  the  great  Bozzy  —  amid  the 
experiments  of  his  youth,  turned  Catholic.  His  dis- 
tracted relations  deputed  Sir  John  Pringle  to  deal 
with  him.  That  great  lawyer  pointed  out  the  worldly 
disadvantages  of  the  step.  Bozzy  pleaded  his  im- 
mortal soul.  Whereupon  Sir  John  observed  Avitli 
warmth  that  anyone  possessing  a  particle  of  gentle- 
manly spirit  would  sooner  be  damned  to  all  eternity 
than  give  his  relations  so  much  trouble  as  Bozzy 
was  giving  his  ! " 

"  The  application  is  not  clear,"  said  Mrs.  Friedland. 


IIELBECK   OF  BANNISBALE  199 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor,  stretching  his  legs  and 
puffing  at  his  cigarette;  '-'but  when  you  speak  of 
Laura,  and  tell  me  she  is  writing  to  Bannisdale,  I 
find  a  comfort  in  Sir  John  Pringle." 

"  It  would  be  more  to  the  purpose  if  Laura  did !  " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Friedland. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head,  and  fell  into  a  reverie. 
Presently  he  asked : 

"  You  think  Mrs.  Fountain  is  really  worse  ?  " 

"Laura  is  sure  of  it.  And  the  difficulty  is,  Avhat 
is  she  to  do  ?  If  she  goes  to  Bannisdale,  she  exiles 
Mr.  Helbeck.  Yet,  if  his  sister  is  really  in  danger, 
Mr.  Helbeck  naturally  Avill  desire  to  be  at  home." 

"  And  they  can't  meet  ?  " 

"Under  the  same  roof  —  and  the  old  conditions? 
Heaven  forbid  !  "  said  Mrs.  Friedland. 

"  Risk  it ! "  said  the  doctor,  violently  slapping  his 
fist  on  the  little  garden  table  that  held  his  box  of 
cigarettes. 

"John!" 

"My  dear  —  don't  be  a  hypocrite!  You  and  I 
know  well  enough  what's  wrong  with  that  child." 

"  Perhaps."  The  lady's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 
"But  you  forget  that  by  all  accounts  Mr.  Helbeck 
is  an  altered  man.  From  something  Laura  said  to 
Molly  last  week,  it  seems  that  ]Mrs.  Fountain  even 
is  now  quite  afraid  of  him  —  as  she  used  to  be." 


200  BELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

"  If  she  would  only  die  —  good  lady  !  —  her  brother 
might  go  to  his  own  place,"  said  the  doctor  im- 
patiently. 

"To  the  Jesuits?" 

The  doctor  nodded. 

"  Did  he  actually  tell  you  that  was  his  intention  ?  " 

"No.  But  I  guessed.  And  that  Trinity  man  Lead- 
ham,  who  went  over,  gave  me  to  understand  the  other 
day  what  the  end  would  probably  be.  But  not  while 
his  sister  lives." 

"  I  should  hope  not ! "  said  Mrs.  Friedland. 

After  a  pause,  she  turned  to  her  husband. 

"  John !  you  know  you  liked  him !  " 

"  If  you  mean  by  that,  my  dear,  that  I  showed 
a  deplorable  weakness  in  dealing  with  him,  my  con- 
science supports  you ! "  said  the  doctor ;  "  but  I 
would  have  you  remember  that  for  a  person  of  my 
quiet  habits,  to  have  a  gentleman  j^ale  as  death  in 
your  study,  demanding  his  lady-love — you  knowing 
all  the  time  that  the  lady-love  is  upstairs  —  and 
only  one  elderly  man  between  them — is  an  agitat- 
ing situation." 

"Poor  Laura!  —  poor  Mr.  Helbeck!"  murmured 
Mrs.  Friedland.  The  agony  of  the  man,  the  resolu- 
tion of  the  girl,  stood  out  sharply  from  the  medley 
of  the  past. 

"All    very    well,  my    dear  —  all    very    well.     But 


nSLBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  201 

you  showed  a  pusillanimity  on  that  occasion  that  I 
scorn  to  qualify.  You  were  afraid  of  that  child  — 
positively  afraid  of  her.  I  could  have  dealt  with 
her  in  a  twinkling,  if  you'd  left  her  to  me." 

"  What  would  you  have  said  to  her  ? "  inquired 
Mrs.  Friedland  gently. 

"How  can  there  be  any  possible  doubt  what  I 
should  have  said  to  her  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  slapping 
his  knee.  "'My  dear,  you  love  him — ergo,  marry 
him  ! '  That  first  and  foremost.  '  And  as  to  those 
other  trifles,  what  have  you  to  do  with  them  ? 
Look  over  them  —  look  round  them!  Else,  my 
dear,  to  your  proper  dignity  and  destiny  —  have  a 
right  and  natural  pride  —  in  the  rock  that  bore 
you !  You,  a  child  of  the  Greater  Church  —  of  an 
Authority  of  which  all  other  authorities  are  the 
mere  caricature  —  why  all  this  humiliation,  these 
misgivings  —  this  turmoil  ?  Take  a  serener  —  take 
a  loftier  view ! '  Ah !  if  I  could  evoke  Fountain 
for  one  hour ! " 

The  doctor  bent  forward,  his  hands  hanging  over 
his  knees,  his  lips  moving  without  sound,  under  the 
sentences  his  brain  was  forming.  This  habit  of 
silent  rhetoric  represented  a  curious  compromise 
between  a  natural  impetuosity  of  temperament,  and 
the  caution  of  scientific  research.  His  wife  watched 
him  with  a  loving,  half-amused  eye. 


202  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

"  And  what,  pray,  could  Mr.  Fountain  do,  John, 
but  make  matters  ten  times  worse  ? " 

"  Do  !  —  who  wants  him  to  do  anything  ?  But 
ten  years  ago  he  mighL  have  done  something. 
Listen  to  me,  Jane!"  He  seized  his  wife's  arm. 
"  He  makes  Laura  a  chihl  of  Knowledge,  a  chihl 
of  Freedom,  a  child  of  Kevolution  — witliout  an 
ounce  of  training  to  fit  her  for  tlie  part.  It  is  like 
an  heir  —  flung  to  the  gypsies.  Then  you  put  her  to 
the  test  —  sorely — conspicuously.  And  .she  stands 
fast  —  she  does  not  yield  —  it  is  not  in  her  blood, 
scarcely  in  her  power,  to  yield.  But  it  is  a  blind 
instinct  carried  through  at  what  a  cost !  You  might 
have  equipped  and  fortified  her.  You  did  neither. 
You  trusted  everything  to  the  passionate  loyalty  of 
the  woman.     And  it  does  not  fail  you.     But !  " 

The  doctor  shook  his  head,  long  and  slowly.  Mrs. 
Friedland  quietly  replaced  the  rugs  which  had  gone 
wandering,  in  the  energy  of  these  remarks. 

"  You  see,  Jane,  if  it's  true  — '  ne  croit  qui  veut ' 

—  it's  still  more  true,  'ne  doute  qui  veut ! '     To  doubt 

—  doubt  wholesomely,  cheerfully,  fruitfully  —  why, 
my  dear,  there's  no  harder  task  in  the  world !  And  a 
woman,  who  thinks  with  her  heart  —  who  can't  stand 
on  her  own  feet  as  a  man  can  —  you  remove  her  from 
all  her  normal  shelters  and  supports  —  you  expect  her 
to  fling  a  '  Xo ! '  in  the  face  of  half  her  natural  friends 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  203 

—  and  then  you  are  too  indolent  or  too  fastidious  to 
train  the  poor  child  for  her  work  !  —  Fountain  took 
Laura  out  of  her  generation,  and  gave  her  nothing  in 
return.  Did  he  read  with  her  —  share  his  mind  with 
her  ?  Never !  He  was  indolent ;  she  was  wilfid  ; 
so  the  thing  slid.  But  all  the  time  he  made  a  partisan 
of  her  —  he  expected  her  to  echo  his  hates  and  his 
prejudice  —  he  stamped  himself  and  his  cause  deep 
into  her  affections 

"And  then,  my  dear,  she  must  needs  fall  in  love 
with  this  man,  this  Catholic !     Catholicism  at  its  best 

—  worse  luck !  No  mean  or  puerile  type,  with  all  its 
fetishisms  and  unreasons  on  its  head  —  no!  —  a  type 
sprung  from  the  best  English  blood,  disciplined  by 
heroic  memories,  by  the  persecution  and  hardships  of 
the  Penal  Laws.  What  happens  ?  Why,  of  course 
the  girl's  imagination  goes  over !  Her  father  in  her  — 
her  temperament  —  stand  in  the  way  of  anything 
more.  But  where  is  she  to  look  for  self-respect,  for 
peace  of  mind?  She  feels  herself  an  infidel  —  a  moral 
outcast.  She  trembles  before  the  claims  of  this  great 
visible  system.  Her  reason  refuses  them  — ■  but  why  ? 
She  cannot  tell.  For  Heaven's  sake,  why  do  we  leave 
our  children's  minds  empty  like  this  ?  If  you  believe, 
-my  good  friend.  Educate!     And   if  you  doubt,  still 

more  —  Educate !     Educate  ! " 

The  doctor  rose  in  his  might,  tossed  his  rugs  from 


204  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

him,  and  began  to  pace  a  sheltered  path,  leaning  on  his 
wife's  arm. 

Mrs.  Friedland  looked  at  him  slyly,  and  laughed. 

"  So  if  Laura  had  been  learned,  she  might  have 
been  happy  ?  —    John !  —  what  a  paradox !  " 

"  Not  mine  then !  —  but  the  Almighty's  —  who  seems 
to  have  included  a  mind  in  this  odd  bundle  that  makes 
up  Laura.  What !  You  set  a  woman  to  fight  for  ideas, 
and  then  deny  her  all  knowledge  of  what  they  mean. 
Happy  !  Of  course  she  might  have  been  happy.  She 
might  have  made  her  Catholic  respect  her.  He 
offered  her  terms  —  she  might  have  accepted  them 
with  a  free  and  equal  mind.  There  would  have  been 
none,  anyway,  of  this  moral  doubt  —  this  bogeyfica- 
tion  of  things  she  don't  understand !  Ah  !  here  she 
conies.  Now  just  look  at  her,  Jane !  What's  your 
housekeeping  after  ?  She's  lost  half  a  stone  this 
month  if  she's  lost  an  ounce." 

And  the  doctor  standing  still  peered  discontentedly 
through  his  spectacles  at  the  advancing  figure. 

Laura  approached  slowly,  with  her  hands  behind 
her,  looking  on  her  way  at  the  daffodils  and  tulips 
just  opening  in  the  garden  border. 

"  Pater  !  —  Molly  says  you  and  Mater  are  to  come 
in.  It's  March  and  not  May,  you'll  please  to  remem- 
ber." 

She  came  up  to  them  with  the  airs  of  a  daughter. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISLALE  205 

put  a  flower  in  Mrs.  Friedlancl's  dress  —  ran  for  one 
of  the  discarded  rugs,  and  draped  it  again  round  the 
doctor's  ample  shoulders.  Her  manner  to  the  two 
elderly  folk  was  much  softer  and  freer  than  it  had  ever 
been  in  the  days  of  her  old  acquaintance  w4th  them. 
A  wistful  gratitude  played  through  it,  revealing  a  new 
Laura  —  a  Laura  that  had  passed,  in  these  five  months 
through  deep  waters,  and  had  been  forced,  in  spite  of 
pride,  to  throw  herself  upon  the  friendly  and  saving 
hands  held  out  to  her. 

They  on  their  side  looked  at  her  with  a  tender 
concern,  which  tried  to  disguise  itself  in  chat.  The 
doctor  hooked  his  arm  through  hers,  and  made  her 
examine  the  garden. 

"Look  at  these  Lent  lilies.  Miss  Laura.  They 
will  be  out  in  two  days  at  most." 

Laura  bent  over  them,  then  suddenly  drew  her- 
self erect.  The  doctor  felt  the  stiffening  of  the 
little  arm. 

"  I  suppose  you  had  sheets  of  tliem  in  the  north," 
he  said  innocently,  as  he  poked  a  stone  away  from 
the  head  of  an  emerging  hyacinth. 

"  Yes  —  a  great  many."  She  looked  absently 
straight  before  her,  taking  no  more  notice  of  the 
flowers. 

''Well  —  and  Mrs.  Fountain?  Are  you  really 
anxious  ?  " 


20G  llKLnKLK   OF  BANMSBALE 

The  girl  hesitated. 

"  She  is  ill  — quite  ill.     I  ought  to  see  her  somehow." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  go !  "  He  looked  round  upon  her 
with  a  clu'errul  decision. 

"No  —  that  isn't  possible,"  she  said  qvdetly.  "  But 
I  might  stay  somewhere  near.  She  must  have  lost 
a  great  deal  of  strength  since  Christmas." 

At  Christmas  and  for  some  time  afterwards,  she 
and  Mrs.  Fountain  had  been  at  St.  Leonard's  together. 
In  fact,  it  was  little  more  than  a  fortnight  since 
Laura  had  parted  from  her  stepmother,  who  had 
shown  a  piteous  unwillingness  to  go  back  alone  to 
Bannisdale. 

The  garden  door  opened  and  shut ;  a  white-capped 
servant  came  along  the  path.  A  gentleman —  for  Miss 
Fountain. 

"  For  me  ?  "  The  girl's  cheek  flushed  involuntarily. 
"Why,  Pater  — who  is  it?" 

For  behind  the  servant  came  the  gentleman  —  a 
tall  and  comely  youth,  with  narrow  blue  eyes,  a 
square  chin,  and  a  very  conscious  smile.  He  was 
well  dressed  in  a  dark  serge  suit,  and  showed  a 
great  deal  of  white  cuff,  and  a  conspicuous  watch- 
chain,  as  he  took  off  his  hat. 

"  Hubert ! " 

Laura  advanced  to  him,  with  a  face  of  astonish- 
ment, and  held  out  her  hand. 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISBALE  207 

Mason  greeted  her  with  a  mixture  of  confusion 
and  assurance,  glancing  behind  her  at  the  Friedlands 
all  the  time.  "Well,  I  was  here  on  some  business 
—  and  I  thought  I'd  look  you  up,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

"My  cousin,  Hubert  Mason,"  said  Laura,  turning 
to  the  old  people. 

Friedland  lifted  his  wide-awake.  Mrs.  Friedland, 
whose  gentle  face  could  be  all  criticism,  eyed  him 
quietly,  and  shook  hands  perfunctorily.  A  few  noth- 
ings passed  on  the  weather  and  the  spring.  Sud- 
denly Mason  said  : 

"  Would  you  take  a  walk  with  me,  Miss  Laura  ?  " 

After  a  momentary  hesitation,  she  assented,  and 
went  into  the  house  for  her  walking  things.  Mason 
hurriedly  approached  the  doctor. 

"Why,  she  looks — she  looks  as  if  you  could  blow 
her  away ! "  he  cried,  staring  into  the  doctor's  face, 
while  his  own  flushed. 

"  Miss  Fountain's  health  has  not  been  strong  this 
winter,"  said  the  doctor  gravely,  his  spectacled  eyes 
travelling  up  and  down  Mason's  tall  figure.  "You. 
I  suppose,  became  acquainted  with  her  in  Westmore- 
land ?  " 

"  Acquainted  with  her ! "  The  young  man  cheeked 
himself,  flushed  still  redder,  then  resumed,  "Well, 
we're  cousins,  you  see  —  though  of  course  I  don't 
mean  to  say  that  we're  her  sort  —  you  understand?" 


208  HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

"  Miss  Fountain  is  ready,"  said  Mrs.  Friedland. 

Mason  looked  round,  saw  the  little  figure  in  the 
doorway,  and  hastily  saluting  the  Friedlands,  he  took 
his  leave. 

''  My  dear,"  said  the  doctor  anxiously,  laying  hold 
on  his  wife's  arm,  ''should  we  have  asked  him  to 
lunch  ?  " 

His  wife   smiled. 

"  By  no   means.     That's  Laura's   business." 

"  Well,  but,  Jane  —  Jane !  had  you  realised  that 
young  man  ?  " 

"Oh  dear,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Friedland.  "Don't 
excite  yourself,  John." 

"Laura  —  gone  out  with  a  young  man,"  said  the 
doctor,  musing.  "I  have  been  waiting  for  that  all 
the  winter  —  and  he's  extremely  good-looking,  Jane." 

Mrs.  Friedland  lost  patience. 

"  John !  I  really  can't  talk  to  you,  if  you're  as 
dense  as  that." 

"  Talk  to  me  ! "  cried  the  doctor  —  "  why,  you  un- 
reasonable woman,  you  haven't  vouchsafed  me  a 
single  word ! " 

"  Well,  and  why  should  I  ? "  said  Mrs.  Friedland 
provokingly. 

Half  an  hour  passed  away.  Mason  and  Laura  were 
sitting  in  the  garden  of  Trinity. 


BELBECK  OF  BANNlUDALE  209 

Up  till  now,  Laura  had  no  very  clear  idea  of  Avliat 
they  had  been  talking  about.  Mason,  it  appeared, 
had  been  granted  three  days'  holiday  by  his  employ- 
ers, and  had  made  use  of  it  to  conie  to  Cambridge  and 
present  a  letter  of  introduction  from  his  old  teacher, 
Castle,  the  Whinthorpe  organist,  to  a  famous  Cam- 
bridge musician.  But,  at  first,  he  was  far  more 
anxious  to  discuss  Laura's  affairs  than  to  explain  his 
own;  and  Laura  had  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  keep 
him  at  arm's  length.  For  nine  months,  Mason  had 
brooded,  gossiped,  and  excused  himself;  now,  con- 
scious of  being  somehow  a  tine  fellow  again,  he  had 
come  boldly  to  play  the  cousin  —  perhaps  something 
more.  He  offered  now  a  few  words  of  stammering 
apology  on  the  subject  of  his  letter  to  Laura  after  the 
announcement  of  her  engagement.  She  received  them 
in  silence ;  and  the  matter  dropped. 

As  to  his  moral  recovery,  and  material  prospects,  his 
manners  and  appearance  were  enough.  A  fledgeling 
ambition,  conscious  of  new  aims  and  chances,  revealed 
itself  in  all  he  said.  The  turbid  elements  in  the 
character  were  settling  down ;  the  permanent  lines 
of  it,  strong,  vulgar,  self-complacent,  emerged. 

Here,  indeed,  was  a  successful  man  in  the  making. 
Once  or  twice  the  girl's  beautiful  eyes  opened  sud- 
denly, and  then  sank  again.  Before  her  rose  the 
rocky  chasm  of  the  Greet;  the  sound  of  the  water 

VOL.   II.  — P 


210  IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

was  in  her  ears  —  the  boyish  tones  of  remorse,  or 
entreaty. 

"  And  you  know  I'll  make  some  money  out  of  my 
songs  before  long  —  see  if  I  don't!  T  took  some  of 
em  to  the  Professor  this  morning  —  and,  my  word, 
didn't  he  like  em !  AVhy,  I  couldn't  repeat  the 
things  he  said  —  you'd  think  I  wns  bluffing  !  " 

Strange  gift !  —  "settling  unaware  "  ■ —  on  this  rude 
nature  and  poor  intelligence  !  But  Laura  looked  up 
eagerly.  Here  she  softened;  here  was  the  bridge 
between  them.  And  when  he  spoke  of  his  new 
friend,  the  young  musical  apostle  who  had  reclaimed 
him,  there  was  a  note  which  pleased  her.  She  began 
to  smile  upon  him  more  freely  ;  the  sadness  of  her 
little  face  grew  sweet. 

And  suddenly  the  young  man  stopped  and  looked 
at  her.  He  reddened ;  and  she  flushed  too,  not 
knowing   why. 

"Well,  that's  where  'tis,"  he  said,  moving  towards 
her  on  the  seat.  "  I'm  going  to  get  on.  I  told  you  I 
was,  long  ago,  and  it's  come  true.  My  salary'll  be  a 
decent  figure  before  this  year's  out,  and  I'm  certain 
I'll  make  something  out  of  the  songs.  Then  there's 
my  share  of  the  farm.  Mother  don't  give  me  more 
than  she's  obliged ;  but  it's  a  tidy  bit  sometimes. 
Laura !  —  look  here !  —  I  know  there's  nothing  in  the 
way  now.     You  were   a   plucky   girl,   you   were,   to 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  211 

throw  that  up.  I  always  said  so — I  didn't  care  what 
people  thought.  Well,  but  now — you're  free  —  and 
I'm  a  better  sort  —  won't  you  give  a  fellow  a  chance  ?  " 

Midway,  his  new  self-confidence  left  him.  She  sat 
there  so  silent,  so  delicately  white !  He  had  but  to 
put  out  his  hand  to  grasp  her;  and  he  dared  not 
move  a  finger.  He  stared  at  her,  breathless  and 
open-mouthed. 

But  she  did  not  take  it  tragically  at  all.  After  a 
moment,  she  began  to  laugh,  and  shook  her  head. 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  want  me  to  marry  you, 
Hubert  ?  Oh  !  you'd  so  soon  be  tired  of  that !  —  You 
don't  know  anything  about  me,  really  —  we  shouldn't 
suit  each  other  at  all." 

His  face  fell.  He  drew  sullenly  away  from  her, 
and  bending  forward,  began  to  poke  at  the  grass 
with  his  stick. 

"  I  see  how  'tis.  I'm  not  good  enough  for  you  — 
and  I  don't  suppose  I  ever  shall  be." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  smiling  compassion. 

"I'm  not  in  love  with  you,  Mr.  Hubert  —  that's  all." 

"No  —  you've  never  got  over  them  things  that  hap- 
pened up  at  Whinthorpe,"  he  said  roughly.  "  I've 
got  a  bone  to  pick  with  you  though.  Why  did  you 
give  me  the  slip  that  night  ? " 

He  looked  up.  But  in  spite  of  his  bravado,  he  red- 
dened again,  deeply. 


212  JIELBECK  OF  BAJ^NISDALE 

"Well  —  you  hadn't  exactly  commended  yourself 
as  an  escort,  had  you  ? "  she  said  lightly.  But  her 
tone  pricked. 

"I  hadn't  had  a  drop  of  anything,"  he  declared 
hotly ;  "  and  I'd  have  looked  after  you,  and  stopped 
a  deal  of  gossip.  You  hurt  my  feelings  pretty  badly, 
I  can  tell  you." 

"  Did  I  ?  —  Well,  as  you  hurt  mine  on  the  first  occa- 
sion, let's  cry  quits." 

He  was  silent  for  a  little,  throwing  furtive  glances 
at  her  from  time  to  time.  She  was  wonderfully  thin 
and  fragile,  but  wonderfully  pretty,  as  she  sat  there 
under  the  cedar. 

At  last  he  said,  with  a  grumbling  note : 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  look  so  thin  and  dowie-like, 
as  we  say  up  at  home  —  you've  no  cause  to  fret,  I'm 
sure." 

The  temper  of  twenty-one  gave  way.  Laura  sat  up 
—  nay,  rose. 

"  Will  you  please  come  and  look  at  the  sights  ?  — 
or  shall  I  go  home  ?  " 

He  looked  up  at  her  flashing  face,  and  stiick  to  his 
seat. 

"I  say  —  Miss  Laura  —  you  don't  know  how  you 
bowl  a  fellow  over !  " 

The  expression  of  his  handsome  countenance  —  so 
childish  still  through  all    its  athlete's  force  —  propi- 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  213 

tiated  her.  And  yet  she  felt  instinctively  that  his 
fancy  for  her  no  longer  went  so  deep  as  it  had  once 
done. 

Well !  — she  was  glad ;  of  course  she  was  glad. 

"  Oh !  you're  not  so  very  much  to  be  pitied,"  she 
said;  but  her  hand  lighted  a  moment  kindly  and 
shyly  on  the  young  man's  arm.  "Now,  if  you 
wouldn't  talk  about  these  things,  Hubert  —  do  you 
know  what  I  should  be  doing?  —  I  should  be  asking 
you  to  do  me  a  service." 

His  manner  changed — became  businesslike  and 
mannish  at  once. 

"Then  you'll  please  sit  down  again  —  and  tell  me 
what  it  is,"  he  said. 

She  obeyea.     He  crossed  his  knees,  and  listened. 

But  she  had  some  difiicvilty  in  putting  it.  At  last 
she  said,  looking  away  from  him  : 

"  Do  you  think,  if  I  proposed  it,  your  mother  could 
bear  to  have  me  on  a  visit  to  the  farm  ?  " 

"Mother!  —  you!"  he  said  in  astonishment.  A 
hundred  notions  blazed  up  in  his  mind.  What  on 
earth  did  she  want  to  be  in  those  parts  again  for  ? 

"My  stepmother  is  very  unwell,"  she  said  hur- 
riedly. "  It  —  well,  it  troubles  me  not  to  see  her. 
But  I  can't  go  to  Bannisdale.  If  your  mother  doesn't 
hate  me  now,  as  she  did  last  summer  —  perhaps  —  she 
and  Polly  would  take  me  in  for  a  while  ?  " 


214  llELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

He  frowned  over  it  —  taking  the  airs  of  the  rela- 
tive and  the  counsellor. 

"  Mother  didn't  say  much  —  well  —  about  your 
affair.  Hut  Polly  says  she's  never  spoken  again 
you  since.  But  I  expect  —  you  know  what  she'd  be 
afraid  of?" 

He  nodded  sagaciously. 

"  I  can't  imagine,"  said  Laura,  instantly.  But  the 
stiffening  of  her  slight  frame  betrayed  her. 

"  Why,  of  course  —  Miss  Laura  —  you  see  she'd  be 
afraid  of  its  coming  on  again." 

There  was  silence.  The  broad  rim  of  Laura's  velvet 
hat  hid  her  face.     Hubert  began  to  be  uncomfortable. 

"I  don't  say  as  she'd  have  cause  to,"  he  said 
slowly ;  "  but " 

Laura  suddenly  laughed,  and  Mason  opened  his 
eyes  in  astonishment.  Such  a  strange  little  dry 
sound ! 

"  Of  covirse,  if  your  mother  were  to  think  such 
things  and  to  say  them  to  me  —  every  time  I  went  to 
Bannisdale,  I  couldn't  stay.  But  I  want  to  see 
Augustina  very,  very  much."  Her  voice  wavered. 
"And  I  could  easily  go  to  her  —  if  I  were  close  by 
—  when  she  was  alone.  And  of  course  I  should  be 
no  expense.  Your  mother  knows  I  have  my  own 
money." 

Hubert  nodded.     He  was  trying  hard  to  read  her 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  215 

face,  but  —  what  the  deuce  made  girls  so  close?     His 
countenance  brightened  however. 

"All  right.  I'll  see  to  it  —  I'll  manage  it  —  you 
wait." 

"  Ah  !  but  stop  a  minute."  Her  smile  shone  out 
from  the  shadow  of  the  hat.  "  If  I  go  there's  a  con- 
dition.    While  I'm  there,  you  mustn't  come." 

The  young  fellow  flung  away  from  her  with  a  pas- 
sionate exclamation,  and  her  smile  dropped  —  lost 
itself  in  a  sweet  distress,  unlike  the  old  wild 
Laura. 

"  I  seem  to  be  falling  out  with  you  all  the  time," 
she  said  in  haste  —  "  and  I  don't  want  to  a  bit !  But 
indeed  —  it  will  be  much  better.  You  see,  if  you- 
were  to  be  coming  over  to  pay  visits  to  me  —  you 
would  think  it  your  duty  to  make  love  to  me !  " 

u  ^Yell  _  and  if  I  did  ?  "  he  said  fiercely. 

"  It  would  only  put  off  the  time  of  our  making 
real  friends.  And  —  and  —  I  do  care  very  much  for 
papa's  people." 

The  tears  leapt  to  her  eyes  for  the  first  time.  She 
held  out  her  ungloved  hand. 

Reluctantly,  and  without  looking  at  her,  he  took  it. 
The  touch  of  it  roused  a  tempest  in  him.  He  crushed 
it  and  threw  it  away  from  him. 

"  Oh !  if  you'd  never  seen  that  man ! "  he  groaned. 

She   got  up  without   a   word,  and   presently   they 


216  nELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

were  walking  tlirough  the  "backs,"  and  she  was  grad- 
ually taming  and  appeasing  liini.  By  the  time  they 
reached  the  street  gate  of  King's  he  was  again  in  the 
full  tide  of  musical  talk  and  boasting,  quite  aware 
besides  that  his  good  looks  and  his  magnificent 
physique  drew  the  attention  of  the  passers-by. 

"Why,  they're  a  poor  lot — these  'Varsity  men!" 
he  said  once  contemptuously,  as  they  passed  a  group 
of  rather  weedy  undergraduates  —  "I  could  throw 
ten  of  em  at  one  go  ! " 

And  perpetually  he  talked  of  money,  the  cost  of 
his  lodgings,  of  his  railway  fare,  the  swindling 
ways  of  the  south.  After  all,  the  painful  liabits 
of  generations  had  not  run  to  waste ;  the  mother 
began  to  show  in  the  son. 

In  the  street  they  parted.  As  he  was  saying 
good-bye  to  her,  his  look  suddenly  changed. 

"  I  say !  —  that's  the  girl  I  travelled  down  with 
yesterday  !     And,  by  Jove !  she  knew  me !  " 

•  And  with  a  last  nod  to  Laura,  he  darted  after  a 
tall  woman  who  had  thrown  him  a  glance  from 
the  further  pavement.  Laiira  recognised  the  smart 
and  buxom  daughter  of  a  Cambridge  tradesman, 
a  young  lady  whose  hair,  shoulders,  millinery,  and 
repartees  were  all  equally  pronounced. 

Miss  "Fountain  smiled,  and  turned  away.     But  in 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  217 

the  act  of  doing  so,  she  came  to  a  siiddeu  stop.  A 
face  had  arrested  her — she  stood  bewiklered. 

A  mau  walking  in  the  road  came  towards  her. 

"X  see  that  you  recognise  me,  Miss  Fountain!" 

The  ambiguous  voice  —  the  dark,  delicate  face  — 
the  clumsy  gait — she  knew  them  all.  But  —  she 
stared  in  utter  astonishment.  The  man  who  ad- 
dressed her  wore  a  short  round  coat  and  soft  hat ; 
a  new  beard  covered  his  chin;  his  flannel  shirt  was 
loosely  tied  at  the  throat  by  a  silk  handkerchief. 
And  over  all  the  same  air  of  personal  slovenliness 
and  ill-breeding. 

"You  didn't  expect  to  see  me  in  this  dress,  Miss 
Fountain?  Let  me  walk  a  few  steps  with  you,  if 
I  may.  You  perhaps  hadn't  heard  that  I  had  left 
the  Jesuits  —  and  ceased  indeed  to  be  a  Catholic." 

Her  mind  whirled',  as  she  recognised  the  scholastic. 
She  saw  the  study  at  Bannisdale  —  and  Helbeck 
bending  over  her. 

"No,  indeed  —  I  had  not  heard,"  she  stammered, 
as  they  walked  on.     "Was  it  long  ago?" 

"Only  a  couple  of  months.  The  crisis  came  in 
January " 

And  he  broke  out  into  a  flood  of  autobiography. 
Already  at  Bannisdale  he  had  been  in  confusion  of 
mind  —  the  voices  of  art  and  liberty  calling  to  him 
each  hour  more  loudly  —  his  loyalty  to  Helbeck,  to 


218  IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

his  boyish  ideals,  to  his  Jesuit  training,  hokling 
him  back. 

•'I  believe,  Miss  Fountain"  —  the  colour  rushed 
into  his  womanish  cheek  —  "you  overheard  us  that 
evening  —  you  know  what  I  owe  to  that  admirable, 
that  extraordinary  man.  May  I  be  frank  ?  We 
have  both  been  through  deep  waters  ! " 

The  girl's  face  grew  rigid.  Involuntarily  she  put 
a  wider  space  between  herself  and  him.  But  he 
did  not  notice. 

"  It  will  be  no  news  to  you,  Miss  Fountain,  that 
Mr.  Helbeck's  engagement  troubled  his  Catholic 
friends.  I  chose  to  take  it  morbidly  to  heart  —  I 
ventured  that  —  that  most  presumptuous  attack  upon 
him."  He  laughed,  with  an  affected  note  that  made 
her  think  him  odious.  "But  you  were  soon  avenged. 
You  little  know,  Miss  Fountain,  what  an  influence 
your  presence  at  Bannisdale  had  upon  me.  It  — 
well !  it  was  like  a  rebel  army,  perpetually  there, 
to  help  —  to  support,  the  rebel  in  myself.  1  saw 
the  struggle  —  the  protest  in  you.  My  own  grew 
fiercer.  Oh!  those  days  of  painting!  —  and  always 
the  stabbing  thought,  never  again  !  I  nuist  confess 
even  the  passionate  delight  this  has  given  me  — 
the  irreligious  ideas  it  has  excited.  All  my  religious 
habits  lost  power  —  I  could  not  meditate  —  I  was 
always  thinking  of  the  problem  of  my  work.     Clearly 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  219 

I  must  never  touch  a  brush  again.  —  For  I  was  very- 
soon  to  take  orders  —  then  to  go  out  to  missionary 
work.  Well,  I  put  the  painting  aside  —  I  trampled 
on  myself  —  I  Avent  to  see  my  father  and  sister,  and 
rejoiced  in  the  humiliations  they  put  upon  me.  Mr. 
Helbeck  was  all  kindness,  but  he  was  naturally  the 
last  person  I  could  confide  in.  Then,  Miss  Fountain, 
I  went  back,  back  to  the  Jesuit  routine " 

He  paused,  looking  instinctively  for  a  glance  from 
her.     But  she  gave  him  none. 

<' And  in  three  weeks  it  broke  down  under  me  for 
ever.  I  gave  it  up.  I  am  a  free  man.  Of  the 
wrench  I  say  nothing."  He  drew  himself  up  with 
a  shudder,  which  seemed  to  her  theatrical.  "There 
are  sufferings  one  must  not  talk  of.  The  Society 
have  not  been  ungenerous.  They  actually  gave  me 
a  little  money.  But,  of  course,  for  all  my  Catholic 
friends  it  is  like  death.      They  know  me  no  more." 

Then  for  the  first  time  his  companion  turned 
towards  him.  Her  eyelids  lifted.  Her  lips  framed 
rather  than  spoke  the  words,  "Mr.  Helbeck?" 

"  Ah !  Mr.  Helbeck  —  I  am  not  mistaken.  Miss 
Fountain,  in  thinking  that  I  may  now  speak  of  Mr. 
Helbeck  with  more  freedom  ?  " 

"  My  engagement  with  Mr.  Helbeck  is  broken  off," 
she  said  coldly.  "  But  you  were  saying  something 
of  yourself  ?  " 


220  IlELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

A  momentary  expression  of  dislike  and  disappoint- 
ment crossed  his  face.  He  was  of  a  soft,  sensuous 
temperament,  and  had  expected  a  good  deal  of  sym- 
pathy from  Miss  Fountain. 

"Mr.  Helbeck  has  done  what  all  of  us  might 
expect,"  he  said,  not  without  a  betraying  sharpness. 
"He  has  cast  me  off  in  the  sternest  way.  Hence- 
forth he  knows  me  no  more.  Bannisdale  is  closed 
to  me.  But,  indeed,  the  news  from  that  quarter  fills 
me  with  alarm." 

Laura  looked  up  again  eagerly,  involuntarily. 

"Mr.  Helbeck,  by  all  accounts,  grows  more  and 
more  extreme  —  more  and  more  solitary.  —  But  of 
course  your  stepmother  will  have  kept  you  informed. 
It  was  always  to  be  foreseen.  What  was  once  a 
beautiful  devotion,  has  become,  with  years  —  and,  I 
suppose,  opposition  —  a  stern  unbending  passion  — 
may  not  one  say,  a  gloomy  bigotry  ? " 

He  sighed  delicately.  Through  the  girl's  stormy 
sense  there  ran  a  dumb  rush  of  thoughts  —  "Insolent! 
ungrateful !  He  wounds  the  heart  that  loved  him  — 
and  then  dares  to  discuss  —  to  blame !  " 

But  before  she  could  find  something  to  say  aloud, 
her  companion  resumed. 

"But  I  must  not  complain.  I  was  honoured  by  a 
superior  man's  friendship.  He  has  withdrawn  it. 
He  has  the  right.  — Now  I  must  look  to  the  future. 


BELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  221 

You  will,  I  think,  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  am  not 
in  that  destitute  condition  which  generally  awaits 
the  Catholic  deserter.  My  prospects  indeed  seem  to 
be  secured." 

And  with  a  vanity  which  did  not  escape  her,  he 
described  the  overtures  that  had  been  made  to  him 
by  the  editor  of  a  periodical  which  was  to  represent 
"the  new  mystical  school" — he  spoke  familiarly  of 
great  artists,  and  especially  French  ones,  murdering 
the  French  names  in  a  way  that  at  once  hurt  the 
girl's  ears,  and  pleased  her  secret  spite  against  him  — 
he  threw  in  a  critic  or  two  without  the  Mr.  —  and 
he  casually  mentioned  a  few  lords  as  persons  on 
whom  genius  and  necessity  could  rely. 

All  this  in  a  confidential  and  appealing  tone,  which 
he  no  doubt  imagined  to  be  most  suitable  to  women, 
especially  young  women.  Laura  thought  it  imperti- 
nent and  unbecoming,  and  longed  to  be  rid  of  him. 
At  last  the  turning  to  the  Friedlands'  house  ap- 
peared. She  stood  still,  and  stifEy  wished  him  good- 
bye. 

But  he  retained  her  hand  and  pressed  it  ardently. 

"  Oh !    Miss  Fountain  —  we  have  both  suffered !  " 

The  girl  could  hardly  pacify  herself  enough  to 
go  in.  Again  and  again  she  found  a  pleasure  in 
those  words  of  her   French  novel  that  she  had  re- 


222  IIKLBKCK   OF  BANNISDALE 

peated  to  Helbeck  long  ago:  " Imagination  fausse  et 
troublee — fausse  et  troublee." 

No  delicacy  —  no  modesty  —  no  compunction  !  Her 
own  poor  heart  flew  to  Bannisdale.  She  thought  of 
all  that  the  Squire  had  suffered  in  this  man's  cause. 
Outrage  —  popular  hatred  —  her  own  protests  and 
petulances,  —  all  met  with  so  unbending  a  dignity, 
so  inviolable  a  fidelity,  both  to  his  friend  and  to  his 
Church  !  She  recalled  that  scarred  brow  —  that  kind 
and  brotherly  affection  —  that  passionate  sympathy 
which  had  made  the  heir  of  one  of  the  most  ancient 
names  in  England  the  intimate  counsellor  and  pro- 
tector of  the  wheelwright's  son. 

Popinjay!  —  renegade!  —  to  come  to  her  talking 
of  "  bigotry  "  —  without  a  breath  of  true  tenderness 
or  natural  remorse.  Williams  had  done  that  which 
she  had  angrily  maintained  in  that  bygone  debate 
with  Helbeck  he  had  every  right  to  do.  And  she 
had  nothing  but  condemnation.  She  walked  up  and 
down  the  shady  road,  her  eyes  blinded  with  tears. 
One  more  blow  upon  the  heart  that  she  herself  had 
smitten  so  hard !  Sympathy  for  this  new  pain  took 
her  back  to  every  incident  of  the  old  —  to  every  de- 
tail of  that  hideous  week  Avhich  had  followed  upon 
her  flight. 

How  had  she  lived  through  it  ?  Those  /letters  — ■ 
that  distant  voice  in  Dr.  Friedland's  study  —  her  own 
piteous  craving 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  223 

For  the  tliousamlth  time,  with  the  okl  dreary  con- 
viction,  she  said  to  herself  that  she  had  done  right 

—  terribly,  incredibly  right. 

Bnt  all  the  while,  she  seemed  to  be  sitting  beside 
him  in  his  stndy  —  laying  her  cheek  upon  his  hand 

—  eagerly  comforting  him  for  this  last  sorrow.  His 
inexorable  breach  with  AVilliams  —  well!  it  was  part 
of  his  character — she  would  not  have  it  otherwise. 
All  that  had  angered  her  as  imagination,  was  now 
natural  and  dignified  as  reality.  Her  thoughts 
proudly  defended  it.  Let  him  be  rigorous  towards 
others  if  he  pleased  —  he  had  been  first  king  and 
master  of  himself. 

Next  day  Molly  Friedland  and  Laura  went  to  Lon- 
don for  the  day.  Laura  was  taking  music  lessons,  as 
one  means  of  driving  time  a  little  quicker  ;  and  there 
was  shopping  to  be  done  both  for  the  household  and 
for  themselves. 

In  the  afternoon,  as  the  girls  were  in  Sloan e  Street 
together,  Laura  suddenly  asked  Molly  to  meet  her  in 
an  hour  at  a  friend's  house,  where  they  were  to  have 
tea.  "  I  have  something  I  want  to  do  by  myself." 
Molly  asked  no  questions,  and  they  parted. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Laura  stepped  into  the  church 
of  the  Brompton  Oratory.  It  was  a  Saturday  after- 
noon, and  Benediction  was  about  to  begin. 


*224  lIELJiECK  OF  BANNIShALS 

She  drew  down  hoi*  thick  veil,  and  took  a  seat  near 
the  door.  The  great  heavy  church  was  still  nearly- 
dark,  save  for  a  dim  light  in  the  sanctuary.  But  it 
was  slowly  filling  with  people,  and  she  watched  the 
congregation. 

In  front  of  her  was  a  stout  and  fashionably  dressed 
young  man  with  an  eyeglass  and  stick  —  evidently  a 
stranger.  He  sat  stolid  and  motionless,  one  knee 
crossed  over  the  other,  scrutinising  everything  that 
went  on  as  though  he  had  been  at  the  play.  Pres- 
ently, a  great  many  men  began  to  stream  in,  most  of 
them  bald  and  grey,  but  some  young  fellows,  who 
dropped  eagerly  on  their  knees  as  they  entered,  and 
rose  reluctantly.  Nuns  in  black  hoods  and  habits 
would  come  briskly  up,  kneel  and  say  a  prayer,  then 
go  out  again.  Or  sometimes  they  brought  schools  — 
girls,  two  and  two  —  and  ranged  them  decorously 
for  the  service.  An  elderly  man,  of  the  workman 
class,  appeared  with  his  small  son,  and  sat  in  front 
of  Laura.  The  child  played  tricks ;  the  man  drew  it 
tenderly  within  his  arm,  and  kept  it  quiet,  Avhile  he 
himself  told  his  beads.  Then  a  girl  with  wild  eyes 
and  touzled  hair,  probably  Irish,  with  her  baby  in 
her  arms,  sat  down  at  the  end  of  Laura's  seat,  stared 
round  her  for  a  few  minutes,  dropped  to  the  altar, 
and  went  away.  And  all  the  time  smartly  dressed 
ladies  came  and  went  incessantly,  knelt  at  side  altars, 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  225 

crossed  themselves,  said  a  few  rapid  prayers,  or  dis- 
appeared into  the  mysteries  of  side  aisles  behind 
screens  and  barriers  —  going  no  doubt  to  confession. 

There  was  an  extraordinary  life  in  it  all.  Here 
Avas  ^CoTaiiguid  acceptance  of  a  respectable  habit. 
Something  wafe  eagerly  wanted  —  diligently  sought. 

Laura  looked  round  her,  with  a  sigh  from  her  in- 
most lieart.  But  the  vast  church  seemed  to  her 
ugly  and  inhuman.  She  remembered  a  saying  of  her 
father's  as  to  its  "  vicious  Roman  style  "  —  the  "  tomb 
of  the  Italian  mind." 

What  matter  ? 

Ah !  — -  Suddenly  a  dim  surpliced  figure  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  lights  springing  like  stars  in  the  apse. 
Presently  the  high  altar,  in  a  soft  glow,  shone  out 
upon  the  dark  church.  All  was  still  silent;  the 
sanctuary  spoke  in  light. 

For  a  few  minutes.  Then  this  exquisite  and  magi- 
cal effect  broke  up.  The  lighting  spread  through  the 
church,  became  commonplace,  showed  the  pompous 
lines  of  capital  and  cornice,  the  bad  sculpture  in  the 
niches.     A  procession  entered,  and  the  service  began. 

Laura  dropped  on  her  knees.  But  she  was  no 
longer  in  London,  in  the  Oratory  church.  She  was 
far  away,  in  the  chapel  of  an  old  northern  house, 
where  the  walls  glowed  with  strange  figures,  and  a 
dark  crucifix  hovered  austerely  above  the  altar.     She 

VOL.    II.  —  Q 


226  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

saw  the  snuill  scattered  congregatiou  ;  Father  Bowles's 
grey  head  and  blanched,  weak  face  ;  Augustina  in  her 
long  widow's  veil ;  the  Squire  in  his  corner.  The 
same  words  were  being  said  there  now,  at  this  same 
hour.  She  looked  at  her  watch,  then  hid  her  eyes 
again,  tortured  with  a  sick  yearning. 

But  when  she  came  out,  twenty  minutes  later,  her 
step  was  more  alert.  For  a  little  while,  she  had  been 
almost  happy. 

That  night,  after  the  returned  travellers  had  fin- 
ished their  supper,  the  doctor  was  in  a  talking  mood. 
He  had  an  old  friend  with  him,  a  thinker  and  histo- 
rian like  himself.  Both  of  them  had  lately  come 
across  "■  Leadham  of  Trinity "  —  the  convert  and 
Jesuit,  who  was  now  engaged  upon  an  important 
Catholic  memoir,  and  was  settled  for  a  time  within 
reach  of  Cambridge  libraries. 

"  You  knew  Father  Leadham  in  the  north,  Miss 
Laura  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  as  the  girls  came  into  the 
drawing-room. 

Laura  started. 

"  I  saw  him  two  or  three  times,"  she  said,  as  she 
made  her  way  to  the  warm  but  dark  corner  near  the 
fire.     "  Is  he  in  Cambridge  ?  " 

The  doctor  nodded. 

"  Come  to  embrace  us  all  —  breathing  benediction 


IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  227 

Oil  learning  and  on  science !  Tliere  has  been  a  Catho- 
lic Congress  somewhere."  —  He  looked  at  his  friend. 
"  That  will  show  us  the  way  !" 

The  friend  —  a  small,  lively-eyed,  black-bearded 
man,  just  returned  from  some  theological  work  in  a 
German  university  —  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
good-hum  ouredly . 

The  talk  turned  on  Catholic  learning  old  and  new ; 
on  the  assumptions  and  limitations  of  it;  on  the 
forms  taken  by  the  most  recent  Catholic  Apologetic; 
and  so,  like  a  vessel  descending  a  great  river,  passed 
out  at  last,  steered  by  Friedland,  among  the  breakers 
of  first  principles. 

As  a  rule  the  doctor  talked  in  paradox  and  ellipse. 
He  threw  his  sentences  into  air,  and  let  them  find  their 
feet  as  they  could. 

But  to-day,  unconsciously,  his  talk  took  a  tone  that 
was  rare  with  him  —  became  prophetical,  pontifical  — 
assumed  a  note  of  unction.  And  often,  as  Molly 
noticed,  with  a  slight  instinctive  gesture  —  a  fatherly 
turning  towards  that  golden  spot  made  by  Laura's 
hair  among  the  shadows. 

His  friend  fell  silent  after  a  while  —  watching  Fried- 
land  with  small  sharp  eyes.  He  had  come  there  to 
discuss  a  new  edition  of  Sidonius  Apollinaris,  —  was 
himself  one  of  the  driest  and  acutest  of  investigators. 
All  this  talk  for  babes  seemed  to  him  the  merest  waste 
of  time. 


228  IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

Friedland,  however,  with  a  curious  feeling,  let  him- 
self be  carried  away  by  it. 

A  little  Catholic  manual  of  Church  history  luid 
fallen  into  his  hands  that  nioruincr.  His  fingers 
played  with  it  as  it  lay  on  the  table,  and  with  the 
pages  of  a  magazine  beside  it  that  contained  an  arti- 
cle by  Father  Leadham. 

No  doubt  some  common  element  in  the  two  had 
roused  him. 

"  The  Catholic  war  with  history,"  he  said,  "  is 
perennial !  History,  in  fact,  is  the  great  rationalist ; 
and  the  Catholic  conscience  is  scandalised  by  lier. 
And  so  we  have  these  pitiful  little  books  —  "  he  laid 
his  hand  on  the  volume  beside  him  —  "  which  simply 
expunge  history,  or  make  it  afresh.  And  we  have  a 
piece  of  Jesuit  apologia,  like  this  paper  of  Leadham's 
—  so  charming,  in  a  sense,  so  scholarly !  And  yet  one 
feels  through  it  a  cry  of  the  soul  —  the  Catholic 
arraignment  of  history,  that  she  is  what  she  is ! " 

"  You'll  find  it  in  Newman  —  often,"  said  the  black- 
bearded  man  suddenly  —  and  he  ran  through  a  list  of 
passages,  rapidly,  in  the  student's  way. 

"Ah!  Newman!"  said  Friedland  with  vivacity. 
"This  morning  I  read  over  that  sermon  of  his  he 
delivered  to  the  Oscott  Synod,  after  the  re-establish- 
ment of  the  Hierarchy  — you  remember  it,  Dal  ton  ?  — 
What  a  flow  and  thunder  in  the  sentences !  —  what 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  229 

an  elevation  in  the  thought !  Who  would  not  rather 
lament  with  Newman,  than  exult  with  Fronde  ?  —  But 
here  again,  it  is  history  that  is  the  rationalist  —  not 
we  poor  historians ! 

"...  Why  was  England  lost  to  the  Church?  Be- 
cause Henry  was  a  villain?  —  because  the  Tudor 
bishops  were  slaves  and  poltroons  ?  Does  Leadham, 
or  any  other  rational  man  really  think  so  ?  " 

The  little  black  man  nodded.  He  did  not  think  it 
worth  while  to  speak. 

But  Friedland  went  on  enlarging,  with  his  hand  on 
his  Molly's  head  —  looking  into  her  quiet  eyes. 

"...  The  fact  is,  the  Catholic,  who  is  in  love  with 
his  Church,  cannot  let  himself  realise  truly  what  the 
Eome  of  the  Eenaissance  meant.  But  turn  your  back 
on  all  the  Protestant  crew  —  even  on  Erasmus.  Ask 
only  those  Catholic  witnesses  who  were  at  the  fountain- 
head,  who  saw  the  truth  face  to  face.  And  then  — 
ponder  a  little,  what  it  was  that  really  happened  in 
those  forty-five  years  of  Elizabeth.  .  .  . 

"Can  Leadham,  can  anyone  deny  that  the  nation 
rose  in  them  to  the  full  stature  of  its  manhood  —  to 
a  buoyant  and  fruitful  maturity  ?  And  more  —  if  it 
had  not  been  for  some  profound  movement  of  the 
national  life,  —  some  irresistible  revolt  of  the  common 
intelligence,  the  common  conscience  —  does  anyone 
suppose  that  the  whims  and  violences  of  any  trump- 


•^30  IlLLBECK    OF  BANNISDALE 

ery  king  Cdiild   liave   broken   the  links  with  Rome? 

—  that  such  a  life  and  death  as  More's  could  have 
fallen  barren  on  English  hearts  ?  Never !  How 
shallow  are  all  the  official  explanations  —  how  deep 
down  lies  the  tr\ith  I " 

Out  of  the  monologues  that  followed,  broken  often 
by  the  impatience  or  the  eagerness  of  Dalton,  Molly, 
at  least,  who  worked  much  with  her  father,  remem- 
bered fragments  like  the  following : 

"...  The  figure  of  the  Church, —  spouse  or  captive, 
bride  or  martyr, — as  she  has  become  personified  in 
Catholic  imagination,  is  surely  among  the  greatest, 
the  most  ravishing,  of  human  conceptions.  It  ranks 
with  the  image  of  *  Jahve's  Servant '  in  the  poetry  of 
Israel.  And  yet  behind  her,  as  she  moves  through 
history,  the  modern  sees  the  rising  of  something  more 
majestic  still — the  free  human  spirit,  in  its  contact 
with  the  infinite  sources  of  things !  —  the  Jerusalem 
which  is  the  mother  of  us  all  —  the  Greater,  the 
Diviner  Church.  .  .  .  Into  her  Ursula-robe  all  lesser 
forms  are  gathered.  But  she  is  not  only  a  maternal, 
a  generative  power  —  she  is  chastisement  and  con- 
vulsion. 

"...  Look  back  again  to  that  great  rising  of  the 
North  against  the  South,  that  we  call  the  Reformation. 

—  Catholicism  of  course  is  saved  with  the  rest. —  One 
may  almost  say  that   Newman's  own   type    is   made 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  281 

possible  —  all  that  touclies  and  charms  us  in  English 
Catholics  has  its  birth,  because  York,  Canterbury,  and 
Salisbury  are  lost  to  the  Mass. 

"  And  abroad  ?  —  I  always  find  a  sombre  fascination 
in  the  spectacle  of  the  Tridentine  reform.  The  Church 
in  her  stern  repentance  breaks  all  her  toys,  burns  all 
her  books !  She  shakes  herself  free  from  Guicciar- 
dini's  '  herd  of  wretches.'  She  shuts  her  gates  on  the 
knowledge  and  the  freedom  that  have  rent  her  —  and 
wdthin  her  strengthened  walls  she  sits,  pondering  on 
judgment  to  come.  In  so  far  as  her  submission  is 
incomplete,  she  is  raising  new  reckonings  against  her- 
self every  hour.  —  But  for  the  moment  the  moralising 
influence  of  the  lay  intelligence  has  saved  her  —  a 
new  strength  flows  through  her  old  veins. 

" .  .  .  And  so  wdth  scholarship.  —  The  great  fabric 
of  Galilean  and  Benedictine  learning  rises  into  being, 
under  the  hammer  blow^s  of  a  hostile  research.  The 
Catholics  of  Germany,  says  Kenan,  are  particularly 
distinguished  for  acuteness  and  breadth  of  ideas. 
^Vhy  ?  Because  of  the  '  perpetual  contact  of  Protes- 
tant criticism.'  — 

"...  More  and  more  we  shall  come  to  see  that  it 
is  the  World  that  is  the  salt  of  the  Church  !  She 
owes  far  more  to  her  enemies  than  to  any  of  her 
canonised  saints.  One  may  almost  say  that  she  lives 
on  what  the  World  can  spare  her  of  its  virtues." 


232  TTELBECK  OF  BANNTSDALE 

Laura,  in  her  dark  corner,  had  almost  disappeared 
from  sight.  Molly,  the  soft,  round-faced,  spectacled 
Molly,  turned  now  and  then  from  her  friend  to  her 
father.  She  would  give  Friedland  sometimes  a  gentle 
restraining  touch  —  her  lips  shaped  themselves,  as 
though  she  said,  "  Take  care  !  " 

And  gradually  Friedland  fell  upon  things  more 
intimate  —  the  old  topics  of  the  relation  between 
Catholicism  and  the  will,  Catholicism  and  conscience. 

"...  I  often  think  we  should  be  the  better  for 
some  chair  of  '  The  Inner  Life,'  at  an  English  Uni- 
versity !  "  he  said  presently,  with  a  smile  at  Molly.  — 
"  What  does  the  ordinary  Protestant  know  of  all 
those  treasures  of  spiritual  experience  which  Catholi- 
cism has  secreted  for  centuries  ?  There  is  the  debt 
of  debts  that  we  all  owe  to  the  Catholic  Church. 

"  Well !  —  Some  day,  no  doubt,  we  shall  all  be  able 
to  make  a  richer  use  of  what  she  has  so  abundantly 
to  give. — 

"  At  present  what  one  sees  going  on  in  the  modern 
world  is  a  vast  transformation  of  moral  ideas,  which 
for  the  moment  holds  the  field.  Beside  the  older 
ethical  fabric  —  the  fabric  that  the  Church  l)uilt  up 
out  of  Greek  and  Jewish  material  —  a  new  is  rising. 
We  think  a  hundred  things  unlawful  that  a  Catholic 
permits ;  on  the  other  hand,  a  hundred  prohibitions  of 
the   older  faith   have  lost  their   force.     And   at   the 


i 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  233 

same  time,  for  half  our  race,  the  old  terrors  and 
eschatologies  are  no  more.  We  fear  evil  for  quite 
different  reasons;  we  think  of  it  in  quite  different 
ways.  And  the  net  result  in  the  best  moderns  is  at 
once  a  great  elaboration  of  conscience  —  and  an  almost 
intoxicating  sense  of  freedom.  — 

"Here,  no  doubt,  it  is  the  personal  abjection  of 
Catholicism,  that  jars  upon  us  most  —  that  divides  it 
deepest  from  the  modern  spirit.  —  Molly  !  —  don't 
frown!  —  Abjection  is  a  Catholic  word  —  essentially  a 
Catholic  temper.  It  means  the  ugliest  and  the  loveli- 
est things.  It  covers  the  most  various  types  —  from 
the  nauseous  hysteria  of  a  Margaret  Mary  Alacoque, 
to  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  Imitation.  .  .  .  And  it 
derives  its  chief  force,  for  good  and  evil,  from  the 
belief  in  the  Mass.  There  again,  how  little  the  Prot- 
estant understands  what  he  reviles !  In  one  sense  he 
understands  it  Avell  enough.  Catholicism  would  have 
disappeared  long  ago  but  for  the  Mass.  Marvellous 
indestructible  belief  ! — that  brings  God  to  Man,  that 
satisfies  the  deepest  emotions  of  the  human  heart !  — 

"What  will  the  religion  of  the  free  mind  discover 
to  put  in  its  place  ?  Something,  it  must  find.  For 
the  hold  of  Catholicism  —  or  its  analogues  —  upon  the 
guiding  forces  of  Christendom  is  irretrievably  broken. 
And  yet  the  needs  of  the  soul  remain  the  same.  .  .  . 

"  Some  compensation,  no  doubt,  we  shall  reap  from 


234  llELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

that  added  sense  of  powei'  and  wealth,  which  the 
change  in  the  root  ideas  of  life  has  brought  with  it  for 
many  people.  Iluniauity  has  walked  for  centuries 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Fall,  with  all  that  it  involves. 
Now,  a  precisely  opposite  conception  is  slowly  in- 
corporating itself  witli  all  the  forms  of  European 
thought.  It  is  the  disappearance  —  the  rise  — of  a 
world.  At  the  beginning  of  the  century,  Coleridge 
foresaw  it. 

"...  The  transformation  affects  the  whole  of  per- 
sonality !  The  mass  of  men  who  read  and  thiidv, 
and  lead  straight  lives  to-day,  are  often  conscious  of  a 
dignity  and  range  their  fathers  never  knew.  The 
spiritual  stature  of  civilised  man  has  risen  —  like  his 
physical  stature !  We  walk  to-day  a  nobler  earth. 
We  come  —  not  as  outcasts,  but  as  sons  and  freemen, 
into  the  House  of  God.  —  But  all  the  secrets  and 
formulae  of  a  new  mystical  union  have  to  be  worked 
out.  And  so  long  as  pain  and  death  remain,  human- 
ity will  always  be  at  heart  a  mystic ! " 

Gradually,  as  the  old  man  touched  these  more  pene- 
trating and  personal  matters,  the  head  among  the 
shadows  had  emerged.  The  beautiful  eyes,  so  full  — 
unconsciously  full  —  of  sad  and  torturing  thought, 
rested  upon  the  speaker.  Friedland  became  sensi- 
tively conscious  of  them.      The   grey-haired   scholar 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  235 

was  in  truth  one  of  the  most  religious  of  men  and 
optimists.  The  negations  of  his  talk  began  to  trouble 
him  —  in  sight  of  this  young  grief  and  passion.  He 
drew  upon  all  that  his  heart  could  tiud  to  say  of 
things  fruitful  and  consoling.  After  the  liberating 
joys  of  battle,  he  must  needs  follow  the  perennial 
human  instinct  and  build  anew  the  ''  Civitas  Dei." 

When  Friedland  and  his  wife  were  left  alone,  Fried- 
land  said  with  timidity  : 

"  Jane,  I  played  the  preacher  to-night,  and  preach- 
ing is  foolishness.  But  I  would  willingly  brace  that 
poor  child's  mind  a  little.  And  it  seemed  to  me  she 
listened." 

Mrs.  Friedland  laughed  under  her  breath  —  the 
saddest  laugh. 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  child  was  doing  this  after- 
noon ?  " 

"No." 

"  She  went  to  the  Oratory —  to  Benediction." 

Friedland  looked  up  startled  —  then  understood  — - 
raised  his  hands  and  let  them  drop  despairingly. 


CHAPTER  II 

"  MissiE  —  are  yo  ben  ?  " 

The  outer  door  of  Browhead  Farm  was  pushed  in- 
wards, and  old  Daffady's  head  and  face  appeared. 

"  Come  in,  Daffady  —  please  come  in !  " 

Miss  Fountain's  tone  was  of  the  friendliest.  The 
cow-man  obeyed  her.  He  came  in,  holding  his  bat- 
tered hat  in  his  hand. 

"  Missie  —  A  thowt  I'd  tell  yo  as  t'  rain  had  cleared 
oop  —  yo  cud  take  a  bit  air  verra  weel,  if  yo  felt  to 
wish  it." 

Laura  turned  a  pale  but  smiling  face  towards  him. 
She  had  been  passing  through  a  week  of  illness,  owing 
perhaps  to  the  April  bleakness  of  this  high  fell,  and 
old  Daffady  was  much  concerned.  They  had  made 
friends  from  the  first  days  of  her  acquaintance  with 
the  farm.  And  during  these  April  weeks  since  she 
had  been  the  guest  of  her  cousins,  Daffady  had  shown 
her  a  hundred  quaint  attentions.  The  rugged  old  cow- 
man who  now  divided  with  Mrs.  Mason  the  manage- 
ment of  the  farm  was  half  amused,  half  scandalised, 
by  what  seemed  to  him   the  delicate  uselessness   of 

236 


EEL  BECK  OF  BANNISDALE  237 

Miss  Fountain.  "I'm  towd  as  doon  i'  Lnnnon  town, 
yo'll  find  scores  o'  this  niak  "  —  he  Avould  say  to  his 
intimate  the  okl  shepherd  — "  what  th'  Awmighty 
lued  em  for,  bets  me.  Now  Miss  Polly,  she  can 
sarve  t'  beese  "  —  (by  which  the  old  North  Country- 
man meant  '•  cattle  ")  —  "  and  mek  a  hot  mash  for  t' 
cawves,  an  cook  an  milk,  an  ivery  oother  soart  o' 
thing  as  t'  Lord  give  us  t'  wimmen  for  —  bit  Missie  ! 
—  yo've  nobbut  to  hike  ut  her  'ands.  Nobbut  what 
theer's  soomat  endearin  i'  these  yoong  flibberties  —  yo 
conno  let  em  want  for  owt  —  bit  it's  the  use  of  em 
Avorrits  me  abnve  a  bit." 

Certainly  all  that  old  Daffady  could  do  to  supply 
the  girl's  wants  was  done.  Whether  it  was  a  con- 
tinuous supply  of  peat  for  the  fire  in  these  chilly 
April  days ;  or  a  newspaper  from  the  town ;  or  a 
bundle  of  daffodils  from  the  wood  below  —  some  signs 
of  a  fatherly  mind  he  was  always  showing  towards 
this  little  drone  in  the  hive.  And  Laura  delighted 
in  him  —  racked  her  brains  to  keep  him  talking  by 
the  fireside. 

"  Well,  Daffady,  I'll  take  your  advice.  —  I'm  hun- 
geriiig  to  be  out  again.  But  come  in  a  bit  first. 
When  do  you  think  the  mistress  will  be  back  ?  " 

Daifady  awkwardly  established  himself  just  inside 
the  door,  looking  first  to  see  that  his  great  nailed 
boots  were  making  no  unseemly  marks  upon  the  flags. 


238  IIELUKCK   OF  BANNISDALE 

Laura  was  alone  in  the  house.  Mrs.  Mason  and 
Folly  were  gone  to  Whinthorpe,  where  they  had  some 
small  sales  to  make.  Mrs.  Mason  moreover  was  dis- 
contented with  the  terms  under  which  slie  sold  her 
milk;  and  there  were  inquiries  to  be  made  as  to 
another  factor,  and  perhaps  a  new  bargain  to  be 
struck. 

"Oh,  the  missis  woan't  be  heam  till  dark,"  said 
Daffady.  "  She's  not  yan  to  do  her  business  i'  hailste. 
She'll  see  to  't  aa  hersen.  An  she's  reet  there.  Them 
as  ladles  their  wits  oot  o'  other  foak's  brains  gits 
nobbut  middlin  sarved." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  miss  Mr.  Hubert  very  much  ?  " 
said  Laura,  with  a  laughing  look. 

Daffady  scratched  his  head. 

"Noa  —  they  say  he's    doin   wonnerfu    well,   deiln 
i'  Froswick,  an  I'm  juist  glad  on  't;    for  he  wasna      I 
yan  for  work." 

"Why,  Daffady,  they  say  now  he's  killing  himself 
with  work !  " 

Daffady  grinned  —  a  cautious  grin. 

"They'll  deave  yo,  down  i'  th'  town,  wi  their  noise. 
—  Yo'd  think  they  were  warked  to  death.  —  Bit,  yo 
can  see  for  yorsen.  Why,  a  farmin  mon  mut  be  alius 
agate:  in  t'  mornin,  what  wi'  cawves  to  serve,  an  t' 
coos  to  feed,  an  t'  horses  to  fodder,  yo're  fair  run  aff 
your  legs.      Bit  down  i'  Whinthorpe  —  or    Froswick 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  23'J 

ayder,  fer  it's  noa  odds  —  why,  tlieer's  nowt  stirrin 
for  a  yoong  mon.     If  cat's  loose,  that's  aboot  what !  " 

Laura's  face  lit  up.  Very  few  things  now  had 
power  to  please  her  but  Daffady's  dialect,  and  Daf- 
fady's  scorns. 

"And  so  all  the  world  is  idle  but  you  farm  people  ?  " 

"  A  doan't  say  egsackly  idle,"  said  Daffady,  with  a 
good-humoured  tolerance. 

"But  the  factory-hands,  Daffady?" 

"  0 !  —  a  little  stannin  an  twiddlin ! "  said  Daffady 
contemptuously  —  "I  alius  ses  they  pays  em  abuve  a 
bit." 

"  But  the  miners  ?  —  come,  Daffady  !  " 

"I'm  not  stannin  to  it  aw  roond,"  said  Daffady 
patiently  —  "I  laid  it  down  i'  th'  general." 

"And  all  the  people,  who  work  with  their  heads, 
Daffady,  like  —  like  ni}^  papa  ?  " 

The  girl  smiled  softly,  and  turned  her  slim  neck  to 
look  at  the  old  man.  She  was  charmingly  pretty  so, 
among  the  shadows  of  the  farm  kitchen  —  but  very 
touching  —  as  the  old  man  dimly  felt.  The  change 
in  her  that  worked  so  uncomfortably  upon  his  rustic 
feelings  went  far  deeper  than  any  mere  aspect  of 
health  or  sickness.  The  spectator  felt  beside  her  a 
ghostly  presence  —  that  "  sad  sister.  Pain  "  —  stealing 
her  youth  away,  smile  as  she  might. 

"I  doan't  knaw  aboot  them,  Missie  —  nor  aboot  yor 


240  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

fadtlier  —  tlioo  I'll  upliod  tha  Muster  Stephen  was  a 
terr'ble  cliver  luoii.  Bit  if  yo  doan't  bring  a  gude  yed 
wi  yo  to  til'  farniin  yo  may  let  it  alane.  —  When  tli' 
owd  measter  here  Avas  deein,  Mr.  Hubert  was  verra 
down-hearted  yo  understan,  an  verra  wishfa  to  say 
soomat  frendly  to  th'  owd  man,  iioo  it  had  coom  to 
th'  lasst  of  im.  '  Fadther '  —  he  ses  — '  dear  f  adther  — 
is  there  uowt  I  could  do  fer  tha?'  —  'Aye,  lad'  — 
ses   th'   owd    u.n  — '  gie   me   thy   yed,   an   tak   mine 

—  thine  is  gude  enoof  to  be  buried  wi.'  An  at  that 
he  shet  his  mouth,  and  deed." 

Daffady  told  liis  story  w^ith  relish.  His  contempt 
for  Hubert  was  of  many  years'  standing.  Laura 
lifted  her  eyebrows. 

"That  was  sharp,  for  the  last  word.  I  don't  think 
you  should  stick  pins  when  you're  dying — dying!" 

—  she  repeated  the  word  with  a  passionate  energy  — 
"going  quite  away  —  for  ever."  Then,  with  a  sud- 
den change  of  tone  —  "Can  I  have  the  cart  to- 
morrow, Daffady  ?  " 

Daffady,  who  had  been  piling  the  fire  with  fresh 
peat,  paused  and  looked  down  upon  her.  His  long, 
lank  face,  liis  weather-stained  clothes,  his  great, 
twisted  hand  were  all  of  the  same  colour  —  the  col- 
our of  wintry  grass  and  lichened  rock.  But  his 
eyes  were  bright  and  blue,  and  a  vivid  streak  of 
wh'.te   hair   fell   across   his   high   forehead.     As   the 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  241 

girl  asked  her  question,  the  old  man's  air  of  fatherly 
concern  became  more  marked. 

"  Mut  yo  goa,  missie  ?  It  did  yo  noa  gude  lasst 
time." 

"  Yes,  I  must  go.  I  think  so  —  I  hope  so !  "  —  She 
checked  herself.     ''But  I'll  wrap  up." 

''  Mrs.  Fountain's  nobbut  sadly,  I  unnerstan  ?  " 

"She's  rather  better  again.  But  I  must  go  to- 
morrow. Daffady,  Cousin  Elizabeth  won't  forget  to 
bring  up  the  letters  ?  " 

"I  niver  knew  her  du  sich  a  thing  as  thattens," 
said  Daffady,  with  caution. 

''  And  do  you  happen  to  know  whether  Mr.  Bayley 
is  coming  to  supper  ?  " 

"  T'  minister'll  mebbe  coom  if  t'  weather  hods  up." 

''Daffady  — do  you  think  — that  when  you  don't 
agree  Avith  people  about  religion  — it's  right  and 
proper  to  sit  every  night  —  and  tear  them  to  pieces  ?  " 

The  colour  had  suddenly  flooded  her  pale  face  — 
her  attitude  had  thrown  off  languor. 

Daffady  showed  embarrassment. 

"Well,  noa,  missie  — Aa  doan't  hod  — mysen  — wi 
personalities.  Yo  mun  wrastle  wi  t'  sin  — an  gaa 
saftly  by  t'  sinner." 

"Sin!"  she  said  scornfully. 

Daffady  was  quelled. 

"I've   alius   thowt   mysen,"   he   said   hastily,    "as 
VOL.  ir.  —  u 


242  TIELBECK   OF  BANNI.'^DALE 

we'd  a  deal  to  larn  from  llomanists  i'  soom  ways. 
Noo,  their  noshun  o'  Purgatory  —  I  daurua  say  a 
word  for  't  whon  t'  minister's  taakiii,  for  there's  noa 
warrant  for  't  i'  Scriptur,  as  I  can  mek  oot  —  bit 
I'll  uphod  yo,  it's  juist  liandy  !  Aa've  often  tliowt 
so,  i'  my  aan  preacliin.  Heaven  an  liell  are  verra 
well  for  t'  foak  as  are  ower  good,  or  ower  bad;  bit 
t'  moast  o'  foak  —  are  juist  a  mish-masli." 

He  shook  his  head  slowly,  and  then  ventured  a 
glance  at  Miss  Fountain  to  see  whether  he  had  ap- 
peased her. 

Laura  seemed  to  rouse  herself  with  an  effort  from 
some  thoughts  of  her  own. 

"  Daffady  —  how  the  sun's  shining !  I'll  go  out. 
Daffady,  you're  very  kind  and  nice  to  me  —  I  won- 
der why  ?  " 

She  laid  one  of  the  hands  that  seemed  to  the  cow- 
man so  absurd  upon  his  arm,  and  smiled  at  him. 
The  old  man  reddened  and  grunted.  She  sprang 
up  with  a  laugh;  and  the  kitchen  was  instantly 
filled  by  a  whirlwind  of  barks  from  Fricka,  who 
at  last  foresaw  a  walk. 

Laura  took  her  way  up  the  fell.  She  climbed  the 
hill  above  the  farm,  and  then  descended  slowly  upon 
a  sheltered  corner  that  held  the  old  Browhead  Chapel, 
whereof  the  fanatical  Mr.  Bayley  —  worse  luck  !  — 
was  the  curate  in  charge. 


IIELBECK  OF  BANXISDALE  243 

She  gave  a  wide  berth  to  the  vicarage,  which  with 
two  or  three  cottages,  embowered  in  larches  and 
cherry-trees,  lay  immediately  below  the  chapel.  She 
descended  upon  the  chapel  from  the  fell,  which  lay 
Avild  about  it  and  above  it ;  she  opened  a  little  gate 
into  the  tiny  churchyard,  and  found  a  sunny  rock  to 
sit  on,  while  Fricka  rushed  about  barking  at  the  tits 
and  the  linnets. 

Under  the  April  sun  and  the  light  wind,  the  girl 
gave  a  sigh  of  pleasure.  It  was  a  spot  she  loved. 
The  old  chapel  stood  high  on  the  side  of  a  more 
inland  valley  that  descended  not  to  the  sea,  but  to 
the  Greet  —  a  green  open  vale,  made  glorious  at  its 
upper  end  by  the  overpeering  heads  of  great  moun- 
tains, and  falling  softly  through  many  folds  and  involu- 
tions to  the  woods  of  the  Greet  —  the  woods  of 
Bannisdale. 

So  blithe  and  shining  it  was,  on  this  April  day ! 
The  course  of  the  bright  twisting  stream  was  dimmed 
here  and  there  by  mists  of  fruit  blossom.  For  the 
damson  trees  were  all  out,  patterning  the  valleys, — 
marking  the  bounds  of  orchard  and  field,  of  stream 
and  road.  Each  with  its  larch  clump,  the  grey  and 
white  farms  lay  scattered  on  the  pale  green  of  the 
pastures ;  on  either  side  of  the  valley  the  limestone 
pushed  upward,  through  the  grassy  slopes  of  the  fells, 
and  made  long  edges  and  '■  scars  "  against  the  sky ; 


244  UELliECK  OF  BAXNISDALE 

while  down  by  tlie  river  hummed  the  old  mill  where 
Laura  had  danced,  a  year  before. 

It  was  Westmoreland  in  its  remoter,  gentler  aspect 
—  Westmoreland  far  away  from  the  dust  of  coaches 
and  hotels — an  untouched  pastoral  land,  enwrought 
with  a  charm  and  sweetness  none  can  know  but  those 
who  love  and  linger.  Its  hues  and  lines  are  all  sober 
and  very  simple.  In  these  outlying  fell  districts, 
there  is  no  splendour  of  colour,  no  majesty  of  peak  or 
precipice.  The  mountain-land  is  at  its  homeliest  — 
though  still  wild  and  free  as  the  birds  that  flash 
about  its  streams.  The  purest  radiance  of  cool  sun- 
light floods  it  on  an  April  day;  there  are  pale 
subtleties  of  grey  and  purple  in  the  rocks,  in  the 
shadows,  in  the  distances,  on  which  the  eye  may  feed 
perpetually ;  and  in  the  woods  and  bents  a  never- 
ceasing  pageantry  of  flowers. 

And  what  beauty  in  the  little  chapel-yard  itself! 
Below  it  the  ground  ran  down  steeply  to  the  village 
and  the  river,  and  at  its  edge  —  out  of  its  loose 
boundary  wall — rose  a  clump  of  Scotch  firs,  draw?i 
in  a  grand  Italian  manner  vipon  the  delicacy  of  the 
scene  beyond.  Close  to  them  a  huge  wild  cherry 
thrust  out  its  white  boughs,  not  yet  in  their  full 
splendour,  and  through  their  openings  the  distant 
blues  of  fell  and  sky  wavered  and  shimmered  as  the 
wind  played  with  the  tree.     And  all  round,  among  the 


IlELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  245 

humble  nameless  graves,  the  silkiest,  finest  grass  — 
grass  that  gives  a  kind  of  quality,  as  of  long  and 
exquisite  descent,  to  thousands  of  Westmoreland 
fields  —  grass  that  is  the  natural  mother  of  flowers, 
and  the  sister  of  all  clear  streams.  Daffodils  grew 
in  it  now,  though  the  daffodil  hour  was  waning.  A 
little  faded  but  still  lovely,  they  ran  dancing  in  and 
out  of  the  graves  —  up  to  the  walls  of  the  chapel 
itself  —  a  foam  of  blossom  breaking  on  the  grey  rock 
of  the  church. 

Generations  ago,  when  the  fells  were  roadless  and 
these  valleys  hardly  peopled,  the  monks  of  a  great 
priory  church  on  the  neighbouring  coast  built  here 
this  little  pilgrimage  chapel,  on  the  highest  point  of  a 
long  and  desolate  track  connecting  the  inland  towns 
with  the  great  abbeys  of  the  coast,  and  with  all  the 
western  seaboard.  Fields  had  been  enclosed  and 
farms  had  risen  about  it ;  but  still  the  little  church 
was  one  of  the  loneliest  and  remotest  of  fanes.  So 
lonely  and  remote  that  the  violent  hand  of  Puritanism 
had  almost  passed  it  by,  had  been  content  at  least 
with  a  rough  blow  or  two,  defacing,  not  destroying. 
Above  the  moth-eaten  table  that  replaced  the  ancient 
altar  there  still  rose  a  window  that  breathed  the  very 
secreta  of  the  old  faith  —  a  window  of  radiant  frag- 
ments, piercing  the  twilight  of  the  little  church  with 
strange  uncomprehended  things  —  images  that  linked 


246  HELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

the  humble  chapel  and  its  worshippers  with  the  great 
European  story,  with  Chartres  and  Amiens,  with 
Toledo  and  Kome. 

For  here,  under  a  roof  shal<en  every  Sunday  by 
Mr.  Bayley's  thunders,  there  stood  a  golden  St. 
Anthony,  a  virginal  St.  Margaret.  And  all  roui'id 
them,  in  a  ruined  confusion,  dim  sacramental  scenes 
—  that  flamed  into  jewels  as  the  light  smote  them! 
In  one  corner  a  priest  raised  the  Host.  His  deli- 
cate gold-patterned  vestments,  his  tonsured  head, 
and  the  monstrance  in  his  hands,  tormented  the  cu- 
rate's eyes  every  Sunday  as  he  rose  from  his  knees 
before  the  Commandments.  And  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  stone  tracery,  a  Avoman  lifted  herself  in  bed 
to  receive  the  Holy  Oil  —  so  pale,  so  eager  still, 
after  all  these  centuries !  Her  white  face  spoke 
week  by  week  to  the  dalesfolk  as  they  sat  in  their 
high  pews.  Many  a  rough  countrywoman,  old  per- 
haps, and  crushed  by  toil  and  child-bearing,  had 
wondered  over  her,  had  felt  a  sister  in  her,  had  loved 
her  secretly. 

But  the  children's  dreams  followed  St.  Anthony 
rather  —  the  kind,  sly  old  man,  with  the  belled  staff, 
up  which  his  pig  was  climbing. 

Laura  haunted  the  little  place. 

She  could  not  be  made  to  go  when  Mr.  Bayley 
preached ;   but  on  week-days  she  would  get  the  ke>,; 


. 


IlELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  247 

from  the  schoolmistress,  and  hang  over  the  old  pews, 
puzzling  out  the  window  —  or  trying  to  decipher 
some  of  the  other  Popish  fragments  that  the  church 
contained.  Sometimes  she  would  sit  rigid,  in  a  dream 
that  took  all  the  young  roundness  from  her  face. 
But  it  was  like  the  Oratory  church,  and  Benediction. 
It  brought  her  somehow  near  to  Helbeck,  and  to 
Bannisdale. 

To-day,  however,  she  could  not  tear  herself  from 
the  breeze  and  the  sun.  She  sat  among  the  daffodils, 
in  a  sort  of  sad  delight,  wondering  sometimes  at  the 
veil  that  had  dropped  between  her  and  beauty  — 
dulling  and  darkening  all  things. 

Surely  Cousin  Elizabeth  would  bring  a  letter  from 
Augustina.  Every  day  she  had  been  expecting  it. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  the  second  week  after 
Easter.  All  the  Easter  functions  at  Bannisdale  nuist 
now  be  over ;  the  opening  of  the  new  orphanage  to 
boot;  and  the  gathering  of  Catholic  gentry  to  meet 
the  Bishop  —  in  that  drear}^,  neglected  house  !  Au- 
gustina, indeed,  knew  nothing  of  these  things  — 
except  from  the  reports  that  might  be  brought  to 
her  by  the  visitors  to  her  sick  room.  Bannisdale 
had  now  no  hostess.  Mr.  Helbeck  kept  the  house 
as  best  he  could. 

Was  it  not  three  weeks  and  more,  now,  that  Laura 
had   been   at    the    farm?      And   only    two    visits    to 


248  IlELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

Bannisclale !  For  the  Squire,  by  Augusthia's  wish, 
and  against  the  girl's  own  judgment,  knew  nothing 
of  her  presence  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  she  could 
only  see  her  stepmother  on  days  when  Augustina 
could  be  certain  that  her  brother  was  away.  During 
part  of  Passion  week,  all  Holy  week,  and  half  Easter 
week,  priests  had  been  staying  in  the  house  —  or  the 
orphanage  ceremony  had  detained  the  Squire.  But 
by  now,  surely,  he  had  gone  to  London  on  some 
postponed  business.  That  was  what  Mrs.  Fountain 
expected.     The  girl  hungered  for  her  letter. 

Poor  Augustina!  The  heart  malady  had  been 
developing  rapidly.  She  was  very  ill,  and  Laura 
thought  unhappy. 

And  yet,  when  the  first  shock  of  it  was  over  — 
in  spite  of  the  bewilderment  .and  grief  she  suffered 
in  losing  her  companion  —  Mrs.  Fountain  had  been 
quite  willing  to  recognise  and  accept  the  situation 
which  had  been  created  by  Laura's  violent  action. 
She  wailed  over  the  countermanded  gowns  and  fur- 
nishings; but  she  was  in  truth  relieved.  "Now  we 
know  where  we  are  again,"  she  had  said  both  to 
herself  and  Father  Bowles.  That  strange  topsy- 
turveydom  of  things  was  over.  She  was  no  more 
tormented  with  anxieties ;  and  she  moved  again  with 
personal  ease  and  comfort  about  her  old  home. 

Poor  Alan  of  course  felt  it  dreadfully.     And  Laura 


IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  240 

could  not  come  to  Bannisdale  for  a  long,  long  time. 
But  Mrs.  Fountain  could  go  to  her  —  several  times 
a  year.  And  the  Sisters  were  very  good,  and  chatty. 
Oh  no,  it  was  best  —  much  best! 

But  now  —  whether  it  came  from  physical  weaken- 
ing or  no  —  Mrs.  Fountain  was  always  miserable, 
always  complaining.  She  spoke  of  her  brother  per- 
petually. Yet  when  he  was  Avith  her  she  thought 
him  hard  and  cold.  It  was  evident  to  Laura  that 
she  feared  him ;  that  she  was  never  at  ease  with 
him.  Merely  to  speak  of  those  increased  austerities 
of  his,  Avliich  had  marked  the  Lent  of  this  year, 
troubled  and  frightened  her. 

Often,  too,  she  would  lie  and  look  at  Laura  with 
an  expression  of  dry  bitterness  and  resentment,  with- 
out speaking.  It  was  as  though  she  were  equally 
angry  with  the  passion  which  had  changed  her 
brother  —  and  with  Laura's  strength  in  breaking 
from  it. 

Laura  moved  her  seat  a  little.  Between  the  wild 
cherry  and  the  firs  was  a  patch  of  deep  blue  dis- 
tance. Those  were  his  woods.  But  the  house  was 
hidden  by  the  hills. 

"  Somehow  I  have  got  to  live ! "  she  said  to  her- 
self suddenly,  with  a  violent  trembling. 

But  how  ?     For  she  bore  two  griefs.      The  grief 


250  IlELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

for  him,  of  which  she  never  let  a  word  pass  her  lips, 
was  perhaps  the  strongest  among  the  forces  that 
were  destroying  her.  She  knew  well  that  she  had 
torn  the  heart  that  loved  her  —  that  she  had  set 
free  a  hundred  dark  and  morbid  forces  in  Helbeck's 
life. 

But  it  was  because  she  had  realised,  by  the  in- 
sight of  a  moment,  the  madness  of  what  they  had 
done,  the  gulf  to  which  they  were  rushing  —  because, 
at  one  and  the  same  instant,  there  had  been  re- 
vealed to  her  the  fatality  under  which  she  must  still 
resist,  and  he  must  become  gradually,  inevitably,  her 
persecutor,  and  her  tyrant! 

Amid  the  emotion,  the  overwhelming  impressions 
of  his  story  of  himself,  that  conviction  had  risen  in 
her  inmost  being  —  a  strange  inexorable  voice  of 
judgment  —  bidding  her  go!  In  a  flash,  she  had 
seen  the  wretched  future  years  —  the  daily  struggle 
—  the  aspect  of  violence,  even  of  horror,  that  his 
pursuit  of  her,  his  pressure  upon  her  will,  might 
assume  —  the  sharpening  of  all  those  wild  forces  in 
her  own  nature. 

She  was  broken  with  the  anguish  of  separation  — 
and  how  she  had  been  able  to  do  what  she  had 
done,  she  did  not  know.  But  the  inner  voice  per- 
sisted—  that  for  the  first  time,  amid  the  selfish,  or 
passionate,  or  joy-seeking  impulses  of  her  youth,  she 


UELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  251 

had  obeyed  a  higher  law.  The  moral  realities  of 
the  whole  case  closed  her  in.  She  saw  no  way  out 
—  no  way  in  which,  so  far  as  her  last  act  was  con- 
cerned, she  could  have  bettered  or  changed  the  deed. 
She  had  done  it  for  him,  first  of  all.  He  must  be 
delivered  from  her.  And  she  must  have  room  to 
breathe,  without  making  of  her  struggle  for  liberty 
a  hideous  struggle  with  him,  and  with  love. 

Well,  but  —  comfort!  —  where  was  it  to  be  had? 
The  girl's  sensuous  craving  nature  fought  like  a 
tortured  thing  in  the  grasp  laid  upon  it.  How  was 
it  possible  to  go  on  suffering  like  this  ?  She  turned 
impatiently  to  one  thought  after  another. 

Beauty  ?  Nature  ?  Last  year,  yes  !  But  now  ! 
That  past  physical  ecstasy  —  in  spring  —  in  flowing 
water  —  in  flowers  —  in  light  and  colour  —  where  was 
it  gone  ?  Let  these  tears  —  these  helpless  tears  — 
make  answer! 

Music?  —  books? — the  books  that  "  make  incom- 
parable old  maids"  —  friends?  The  thought  of  the 
Friedlands  made  her  realise  that  she  could  still 
love.  But  after  all  —  how  little !  —  against  how 
much ! 

Religion?  All  religion  need  not  be  as  Alan  Hel- 
beck's.  There  was  religion  as  the  Friedlands  under- 
stood it  —  a  faith  convinced  of  God,  and  of  a  meaning 
for    human    life,    trusting    the    •'  larger    hope "    that 


252  IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

springs  out  of  the  daily  struggle  of  conscience,  and 
the  garnered  experience  of  feeling.  Both  in  Fried- 
land  and  his  wife,  there  breathed  a  true  spiritual 
dignity  and  peace. 

But  Laura  was  not  affected  by  this  fact  in  the 
least.  She  put  away  the  suggestions  of  it  with 
impatience.  Her  father  had  not  been  so.  Kow  that 
she  had  lost  her  lover,  she  clung  the  more  fiercely 
to  her  father.  And  there  had  been  no  anodynes  for 
him. 

.  .  .  Oh  if  the  sun  —  the  useless  sun  —  Avould  only 
go  —  and  Cousin  Elizabeth  would  come  back  —  and 
bring  that  letter !  Yes,  one  little  pale  joy  there 
was  still — for  a  few  weeks  or  months.  The  craving 
for  the  bare  rooms  of  Bannisdale  possessed  her — 
for  that  shadow-happiness  of  entering  his  house 
as  he  quitted  it  —  walking  its  old  boards  unknown 
to  him  —  touching  the  cushions  and  chairs  in  Augus- 
tina's  room  that  he  w^ould  touch,  perhaps  that  very 
same  night,  or  on  the  morrow! 

Till  Augustina's  death.  —  Then  both  for  Laura 
and  for  Helbeck  —  an  Unknow^n  —  before  which  the 
girl  shut  her  eyes. 

There  was  com]3any  that  night  in  the  farm  kitchen. 
Mr.  Bayley,  the  more  than  evangelical  curate,  came  to 
tea. 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  253 

He  was  a  little  man,   with  a  small  sharp  anaemic 
face  buried  in   red  hair.     It  was  two  or  three  years 
of  mission  work,  first  in  Mexico,  and  then  at  Lima 
as  the  envoy  of  one  of   the  most  thoroughgoing  of 
Protestant  societies,  that  had  given  him  his  strangely 
vivid  notions  of  the  place  of  Romanism  among  the 
world's   forces.     At    no   moment   in    this   experience 
can  he  have  had  a  grain  of  personal  success.     Lima, 
apparently,  is  of  all   towns  in  the  universe  the  town 
where    the    beard   of    Protestantism    is    least   worth 
the  shaving  —  to  quote  a  northern  proverb.     At  any 
rate,  Mr.  Bayley  returned  to  his  native  land  at  fifty 
with  a  permanent  twist  of  brain.     Hence  these  pre- 
posterous  sermons   in    the    fell    chapel  ;    this   eager 
nosing   out    and    tracking    down   of   every    scent   of 
Popery ;  this  fanatical  satisfaction  in  such  a  kindred 
soul  as  that  of  Elizabeth  Mason.     Some  mild  Ritual- 
ism  at   Whinthorpe  had   given   him    occupation    for 
years;   and  as  for   Bannisdale,   he   and  the   JMasons 
between  them  had  raised  the  most  causeless  of  storms 
about  Mr.  Helbeck  and  his  doings,  from  the  begin- 
ning; they  had  kept  up  for  years  the  most  rancorous 
memory  of  the  AVilliams  affair ;  they  had  made  the 
owner   of   the   old    Hall   the   bogey    of    a    country- 
side. 

Laura  knew  it  well.     She  never  spoke  to  the  little 
red  man  if   she   could   help   it.     What   pleased    her 


2")4  IJF.LBFA'K  OF  BANNISDALE 

was  to  make  Daffady  talk  of  hiin  —  Daffady,  whose 
contempt  as  a  " Methody "  f or  ''paid  priests"  made 
him  a  sure  ally. 

''  Why,  he  taaks  i'  church  as  thoo  God  Awmighty 
were  on  the  pulpit  stairs — gi-en  him  his  worrds!" 
said  the  cow-man,  with  the  natural  distaste  of  all 
preachers  for  diatribes  not  their  own ;  and  Laura, 
wheu  she  wandered  the  fields  with  him,  would  drive 
him  on  to  say  more  and  worse. 

Mr.  Bayley,  on  the  other  hand,  had  found  a  new 
pleasure  in  his  visits  to  the  farm  since  Miss  Foun- 
tain's arrival.  The  young  lady  had  escaped  indeed 
from  the  evil  thing  —  so  as  by  fire.  But  she  was  far 
too  pale  and  thin ;  she  showed  too  many  regrets. 
Moreover  she  was  not  willing  to  talk  of  Mr.  Helbeck 
with  his  enemies.  Indeed,  she  turned  her  back  rig- 
orously on  any  attempt  to  make  her  do  so. 

So  all  that  was  left  to  the  two  cronies  was  to  sit 
night  after  night,  talking  to  each  other  in  the  hot 
hope  that  Miss  Fountain  might  be  reached  thereby 
and  strengthened  —  that  even  Mrs.  Fountain  and 
that  distant  black  brood  of  Bannisdale  might  in 
some  indirect  way  be  brought  within  the  saving 
power  of  the  Gospel. 

Strange  fragments  of  this  talk  floated  through  the 
kitchen.  — 

*'  Oh,  my  dear  friend !  —  forbidding  to  marry  is  a 


UELBEL'K   OF  BANNISDALE  255 

doctrine  of  devils!  —  Now  Lima,  as  I  have  often  told 
you,  is  a  city  of  convents " 

There  was  a  sudden  grinding  of  chairs  on  the 
flagged  floor.  The  grey  head  and  the  red  approached 
each  other ;  the  nightly  shudder  began  5  while  the 
girls  chattered  and  coughed  as  loudly  as  they  dared. 

"  No  —  a  woan't  —  a  conno  believe  't ! "  Mrs. 
Mason  would  say  at  last,  throwing  herself  back 
against  her  chair  with  very  red  cheeks.  And  Daffady 
would  look  round  furtively,  trying  to  hear. 

But  sometimes  the  curate  would  try  to  propitiate 
the  young  ladies.  He  made  himself  gentle ;  he  raised 
the  most  delicate  difficulties.  He  had,  for  instance,  a 
very  strange  compassion  for  the  Saints.  "  I  hold  it," 
he  said — with  an  eye  on  Miss  Fountain  —  "to  be 
clearly  demonstrable  that  the  Invocation  of  Saints  is, 
of  all  things,  most  lamentably  injurious  to  the  Saints, 
themselves ! " 

"  Hoo  can  he  knaw  ?  "  said  Polly  to  Laura,  open- 
mouthed. 

But  Mrs.  Mason  frowned. 

"A  doan't  hod  wi  Saints  whativer,"  she  said 
violently.     "  So  A  doan't  fash  mysel  aboot  em  !  " 

Daffady  sometimes  would  be  drawn  into  these  diver- 
sions, as  he  sat  smoking  on  the  settle.  And  then  out 
of  a  natural  slyness  —  perhaps  on  these  latter  occa- 
sions,  from   a   secret   sympathy   for   "  missie "  —  he 


250  UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

would  often  devote  himself  to  proving  the  solidarity 
of  all  "  church  priests,"  Establishments,  and  prelatical 
Christians  generally.  Father  Bowles  might  be  in  a 
"  parlish  "  state ;  but  as  to  all  supporters  of  bishops 
and  the  heathenish  custom  of  fixed  prayers  —  whether 
they  wore  black  gowns  or  no  —  "a  man  mut  hae  his 
doots." 

Never  had  Daffacly  been  so  successful  with  his 
shafts  as  on  this  particular  evening.  Mrs.  Mason 
grew  redder  and  redder;  her  large  face  alternately 
flamed  and  darkened  in  the  firelight.  In  the  middle 
the  girls  tried  to  escape  into  the  parlour.  But  she 
shouted  imperiously  after  them. 

"  Polly  —  Laura —  what  art  tha  aboot  ?  Coom  back 
at  yance.     I'll  not  ha  sickly  f oak  sittin  wi'oot  a  fire ! " 

They  came  back  sheepishly.  And  when  they  were 
once  more  settled  as  audience,  the  mistress  —  who 
was  by  this  time  fanning  herself  tempestuously  with 
the  Whinthorpe  paper — launched  her  last  word: 

"  Daffady  —  thoo's  naa  call  to  lay  doon  t'  law,  on 
sic  matters  at  aw.  Mappen  tha'll  recolleck  t'  Bible 
—  headstrong  as  tha  art  i'  thy  aan  conceit.  Bit  t' 
Bible  says  '  How  can  he  get  wisdom  that  holdeth  the 
plough  —  whose  taak  is  o'  bullocks  ?  '  Aa  coom  on 
that  yestherday  —  an  A've  bin  sair  exercised  aboot 
thy  preachin  ever  sen  !  " 

Daffady  held  his  peace. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  267 

The  clergyman  departed,  and  Daffady  went  out  to 
the  cattle,  Laura  had  not  given  the  red-haired  man 
her  hand.  She  had  found  it  necessary  to  carry  her 
work  upstairs,  at  the  precise  moment  of  his  departure. 
But  when  he  was  safely  off  the  premises  she  came 
down  again  to  say  good-night  to  her  cousins. 

Oh!  they  had  not  been  unkind  to  her  these  last 
weeks.  Far  from  it.  Mrs.  Mason  had  felt  a  fierce 
triumph  —  she  knew  —  in  her  broken  engagement. 
Probably  at  first  Cousin  Elizabeth  had  only  ac- 
quiesced in  Hubert's  demand  that  Miss  Fountain 
should  be  asked  to  stay  at  the  farm,  out  of  an  ugly 
wish  to  see  the  girl's  discomfiture  for  herself.  And 
she  had  not  been  able  to  forego  the  joy  of  bullying 
Mr.  Helbeck's  late  betrothed  through  Mr.  Ba3dey's 
mouth. 

Nevertheless,  when  this  dwindled  ghostly  Laura 
appeared,  and  began  to  flit  through  the  low-ceiled 
room  and  dark  passages  of  the  farm  —  carefully 
avoiding  any  talk  about  herself  or  her  story  — 
always  cheerful,  self-possessed,  elusive  —  the  elder 
woman  began  after  a  little  to  have  strange  stirrings 
of  soul  towards  her.  The  girl's  invincible  silence, 
taken  with  those  physical  signs  of  a  consuming  pain 
that  were  beyond  her  concealment,  worked  upon  a 
nature  that,  as  far  as  all  personal  life  and  emotion 
were  concerned,  was  no  less  strong  and  silent.     Polly 

VOL.  II.  —  S 


258  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

saw  witli  astonislmieut  that  fires  were  lit  in  the 
parlour  at  odd  times  —  that  Laura  uiight  read  or 
practise.  She  was  amazed  to  watch  her  mother  put 
out  some  little  delicacy  at  tea  or  supper  that  Laura 
might  be  made  to  eat. 

And  yet!  —  after  all  these  amenities,  Mr.  Bayley 
would  still  be  asked  to  supper,  and  Laura  would 
still  be  pelted  and  harried  from  supper-time  till  bed. 

To-night  when  Laura  returned,  Mrs.  Mason  was 
in  a  muttering  and  stormy  mood.  Daffady  had 
angered  her  sorely.  Laura,  moreover,  had  a  letter 
from  Bannisdale,  and  since  it  came  there  had  been 
passing  lights  in  Miss  Fountain's  eyes,  and  passing 
reds  on  her  pale  cheeks. 

As  the  girl  approached  her  cousin,  Mrs.  Mason 
turned  upon  her  abruptly. 

"  Dostha  want  the  cart  to-morrow  ?  Daffady  said 
soomat  aboot  it." 

"  If  it  could  be  spared." 

Mrs.  Mason  looked  at  her  fixedly. 

''If  A  a  was  thoo,"  she  said,  "  Aa'd  not  flutter  ony 
more  roond  that  can'le  ! " 

Laura  shrank  as  though  her  cousin  had  struck  her. 
But  she  controlled  herself. 

"Do  you  forget  my  stepmother's  state,  Cousin 
Elizabeth  ?  " 

''Oh! — yo'  con  aw  mak  much  o'  what  suits  tha!" 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  259 

cried  the  mistress,  as  she  walked  fiercely  to  the  outer 
door  and  locked  it  noisily  from  the  great  key-bunch 
hanging  at  her  girdle. 

The  girl's  eyes  showed  a  look  of  flame.  Then  her 
head  seemed  to  swim.  She  put  her  hand  to  her 
brow,  and  walked  weakly  across  the  kitchen  to  the 
door  of  the  stairs. 

"Mother!"  cried  Polly,  in  indignation;  and  she 
sprang  after  Laura.  But  Laura  waved  her  back  im- 
periously, and  almost  immediately  they  heard  her 
door  shut  upstairs. 

An  hour  later  Laura  was  lying  sleepless  in  her 
bed.  It  was  a  clear  cold  night  —  a  spring  frost 
after  the  rain.  The  moon  shone  through  the  white 
blind,  on  the  old  four-poster,  on  Laura's  golden  hair 
spread  on  the  pillow,  on  the  great  meal-ark  which 
barred  the  chimney,  on  the  rude  walls  and  Avoodwork 
of  the  room. 

Her  arms  were  thrown  behind  her  head,  supporting 
it.  Nothing  moved  in  the  house,  or  the  room  —  the 
only  sound  was  the  rustling  of  a  mouse  in  one 
corner. 

A  door  opened  on  a  sudden.  There  was  a  step  in 
the  passage,  and  someone  knocked  at  her  door. 

"  Come  in." 

On  the  threshold  stood  jMrs.  Mason  in  a  cotton  bed- 


•260  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

gown  and  petticoat,  her  grey  locks  in  confusion  about 
hev  massive  face  and  piercing  eyes. 

She  closed  the  door,  and  came  to  the  bedside. 

"  Laura !  —  Aa've  coom  to  ast  thy  pardon  !  " 

Laura  raised  herself  on  one  arm,  and  looked  at  the 
apparition  with  amazement. 

"  Mebbe  A've  doon  wrang.  —  We  shouldna  quench 
the  smoakin  flax.  Soa  theer's  my  han,  child  —  if 
thoo  can  teak  it." 

The  old  woman  held  out  her  hand.  There  was  an 
indescribable  sound  in  her  voice,  as  of  deep  waters 
welling  up. 

Laura  fell  back  on  her  pillows  —  the  whitest,  fra- 
gilest  creature  —  under  the  shadows  of  the  old  bed. 
She  opened  her  delicate  arms.  "Suppose  you  kiss 
me,  Cousin  Elizabeth  ! " 

The  elder  woman  stooped  clumsily.  The  girl 
linked  her  arms  round  her  neck  and  kissed  her 
warmly,  repeatedly,  feeling  through  all  her  motherless 
sense  the  satisfaction  of  a  long  hunger  in  the  contact 
of  the  old  face  and  ample  bosom. 

The  reserve  of  both  forbade  anything  more.  Mrs. 
Mason  tucked  in  the  small  figure  —  lingered  a  little 
—  said,  "  Laura,  th'art  not  coald  —  nor  sick  ?  "  — 
and  when  Laura  answered  cheerfully,  the  mistress 
went. 

The  girl's  eyes  were  wet  for  a  while;    her  heart 


BEL  BECK  OF  BANNISDALE  2G1 

beat   fast.      There   had   been  few   affections   in   her 
short  life  —  far  too  few.     Her  nature  gave  itself  with 
a  fatal  prodigality,  or  not  at  all.     And  now  —  what 
^was  there  left  to  give  ? 

But  she  slept  more  peacefully  for  Mrs.  Mason's 
visit  —  with  Augustina's  letter  of  summons  under  her 
hand. 

The  day  was  still  young  when  Laura  reached  Ban- 
nisdale. 

Never  had  the  house  looked  so  desolate.  Dust  lay 
on  the  oaken  boards  and  tables  of  the  hall.  There 
was  no  fire  on  the  great  hearth,  and  the  blinds  in  the 
oriel  windows  were  still  mostly  drawn.  But  the 
remains  of  yesterday's  fire  were  visible  yet,  and  a 
dirty  duster  and  pan  adorned  the  Squire's  chair. 

The  Irishwoman  with  a  half-crippled  husband,  who 
had  replaced  Mrs.  Denton,  was  clearly  incompetent. 
Mrs.  Denton  at  least  had  been  orderly  and  clean. 
The  girl's  heart  smote  her  with  a  fresh  pang  as  she 
made  her  way  upstairs. 

She  found  Augustina  no  worse;  and  in  her  room 
there  was  always  comfort,  and  even  brightness.  She 
had  a  good  nurse  ;  a  Catholic  "  Sister  "  from  London, 
of  a  kind  and  cheerful  type,  that  Laura  herself  could 
not  dislike ;  and  whatever  working  power  there  was 
in  the  household  was  concentrated  on  her  service. 


262  llELliECK   OF  BAyMUlJALE 

Miss  Fountain  took  off  her  things,  and  settled  in 
for  the  day.  Augustina  chattered  incessantly,  except 
when  her  weakness  threw  her  into  long  dozes,  min- 
gled often,  Laura  thought,  with  slight  Avandering. 
Her  wish  evidently  was  to  be  always  talking  of  her 
brother ;  but  in  this  she  checked  herself  whenever 
she  could,  as  though  controlled  by  some  resolution  of 
her  own,  or  some  advice  from  another. 

Yet  in  the  end  she  said  a  great  deal  about  him. 
She  spoke  of  the  last  weeks  of  Lent,  of  the  priests 
who  had  been  staying  in  the  house ;  of  the  kindness 
that  had  been  shown  her.  That  wonderful  network 
of  spiritual  care  and  attentions  —  like  a  special  system 
of  courtesy  having  its  own  rules  and  etiquette  —  with 
which  Catholicism  surrounds  the  dying,  had  been 
drawn  about  the  poor  little  widow.  During  the  last 
few  weeks  Mass  had  been  said  several  times  in  her 
room ;  Father  Leadham  had  given  her  Communion 
every  day  in  Easter  week;  on  Easter  Sunday  the 
children  from  the  orphanage  had  come  to  sing  to  her ; 
that  Roman  palm  over  the  bed  was  brought  her  by 
Alan  himself.  The  statuette  of  St.  Joseph,  too,  was 
his  gift. 

So  she  lay  and  talked  through  the  day,  cheerfully 
enough.  She  did  not  want  to  hear  of  Cambridge  or 
the  Friedlauds,  still  less  of  the  farm.  Her  whole 
interest  now  was  centred  in  her  own  state,    and  in 


IlELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  263 

the  Catholic  joys  and  duties  which  it  still  per- 
mitted. She  never  spoke  of  her  husband;  Laura 
bitterly  noted  it. 

But  there  were  moments  when  she  watched  her 
stepdaughter,  and  once  when  the  Sister  had  left  them 
she  laid  her  hand  on  Laura's  arm  and  whispered  : 

"  Oh  !  Laura  —  he  has  grown  so  much  greyer  — 
since  —  since  October." 

The  girl  said  nothing.  Augustina  closed  her  eyes, 
and  said  with  much  twitching  and  agitation,  "  When 
—  when  I  am  gone,  he  will  go  to  the  Jesuits  —  T 
know  he  will.  The  place  will  come  to  our  cousin, 
Richard  Helbeck.  He  has  plenty  of  money  —  it 
will  be  very  different  some  day." 

"  Did  —  did  Father  Leadham  tell  you  that  ?  "  said 
Laura,  after  a  while. 

"Yes.  He  admitted  it.  He  said  they  had  twice 
dissuaded  him  in  former  years.  But  now  —  when 
I'm  gone  —  it'll  be  allowed." 

Suddenly  Augustina  opened  her  eyes.  ''Laura! 
where  are  you  ?  "  Her  little  crooked  face  Avorked 
with  tears.  "  I'm  glad  !  —  We  ought  all  to  be  glad.  I 
don't  —  I  don't  believe  he  ever  has  a  happy  moment !  " 

She  began  to  weep  piteously.  Laura  tried  to 
console  her,  putting  her  cheek  to  hers,  with  inartic- 
ulate soothing  words.  But  Augustina  turned  away 
from  her  —  almost  in  irritation. 


264  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

The  girl's  heart  was  wrung  at  every  turn.  She 
lingered,  however,  till  the  last  minute  —  almost  till 
the  April  dark  had  fallen. 

When  she  reached  the  hall  again,  she  stood  a 
moment  looking  round  its  cold  and  gloom.  First, 
with  a  start,  she  noticed  a  pile  of  torn  envelopes 
and  papers  lying  on  a  table,  which  had  escaped  her 
in  the  morning.  The  Squire  must  have  thrown  them 
down  there  in  the  early  morning,  just  before  start- 
ing on  his  journey.  The  small  fact  gave  her  a  throb 
of  strange  joy  —  brought  back  the  living  presence. 
Then  she  noticed  that  the  study  door  was  open. 

A  temptation  seized  her  —  drove  her  before  it. 
Silence  and  solitvide  possessed  the  house.  The  ser- 
vants were  far  away  in  the  long  rambling  basement. 
Augustina  was  asleep  with  her  nurse  beside  her. 

Laura  went  noiselessly  across  the  hall.  She  pushed 
the  door  —  she  looked  round  his  room. 

No  change.  The  books,  the  crucifix,  the  pictures, 
all  as  before.  But  the  old  walls,  and  wainscots,  the 
air  of  the  room,  seemed  still  to  hold  the  winter. 
They  struck  chill. 

The  same  pile  of  books  in  daily  use  upon  his  table 
— a  few  little  manuals  and  reprints —  "The  Spiritual 
Combat,"  the  "Imitation,"  some  sermons  —  the  vol- 
ume of  "  Acta  Sanctorum  "  for  the  month. 

She  could  not  tear  herself  from  them.     Trembling, 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  265 

she  hung  over  them,  and  her  fingers  blindly  opened 
a  little  book  which  lay  on  the  top.  It  fell  apart  at  a 
place  which  had  been  marked  —  freshly  marked,  it 
seemed  to  her.  A  few  lines  had  been  scored  in  pen- 
cil, with  a  date  beside  them.  She  looked  closer  and 
read  the  date  of  the  foregoing  Easter  Eve.  And  the 
passage  with  its  scored  lines  ran  thus  : 

"Drive  far  from  us  the  crowd  of  evil  spirits  who' 
strive  to  approach  us;  unloose  the  too  firm  hold  of 
earthly  things ;  imtie  vnth  Thy  gentle  and  wounded 
hands  the  fibres  of  our  hearts  that  cling  so  fast  round 
human  affections  ;  let  our  weary  head  rest  on  Thy 
bosom  till  the  struggle  is'  over,  and  our  cold  form 
falls  back  —  dust  and  ashes." 

She  stood  a  moment  —  looking  down  upon  the 
book  —  feeling  life  one  throb  of  anguish.  Then 
wildly  she  stooped  and  kissed  the  pages.  Dropping 
on  her  knees  too,  she  kissed  the  arm  of  the  chair, 
the  place  where  his  hand  would  rest. 

No  one  came  —  the  solitude  held.  Gradually  she 
got  the  better  of  her  misery.  She  rose,  replaced 
the  book,  and  went. 

The  following  night,  very  late,  Laura  again  lay 
sleepless.  But  April  was  blowing  and  plashing  out- 
side. The  high  fell  and  the  lonely  farm  seemed  to 
lie  in  the  very  track  of  the  storms,  as  they  rushed 


266  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

from  the  south-west  across  the  open  moss  to  beat 
them^,elves  upon  tlie  nuiuntains. 

But  the  moon  shone  sometimes,  and  then  the 
girl's  restlessness  would  remind  her  of  the  open 
fell-side,  of  pale  lights  upon  the  distant  sea,  of 
cool  blasts  whirling  among  the  old  thorns  and 
junipers,  and  she  would  long  to  be  up  and  away  — 
escaped  from  this  prison  where  she  could  not  sleep. 

How  the  wind  could  drop  at  times  —  to  what  an 
utter  and  treacherous  silence !  And  what  strange, 
misleading  sounds  the  silence  brought  with  it ! 

She  sat  up  in  bed.  Surely  someone  had  opened 
the  further  gate  —  the  gate  from  the  lane  ?  But 
the  wind  surged  in  again,  and  she  had  to  strain 
her  eai'S.  Nothing.  Yes!  —  wheels  and  hoofs!  a 
carriage  of  some  sort  approaching. 

A  sudden  thought  came  to  her.  The  dog-cart  —  it 
seemed  to  be  such  by  the  sound  —  drew  up  at  the 
farm  door,  and  a  man  descended.  She  heard  the 
reins  thrown  over  the  horse's  back,  then  the  grop- 
ing for  the  knocker,  and  at  last  blows  loud  and 
clear,  startling  the  night. 

Mrs.  Mason's  window  was  thrown  open  next,  and 
her  voice  came  out  imperiously  —  "  What  is  't  ?  " 

Laura's  life  seemed  to  hang  on  the  answer. 

"Will  you  please  tell  Miss  Fountain  that  her 
stepmother  is  in  great  danger,  and  asks  her  to 
come  at  once." 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  267 

She  leapt  from  her  bed,  but  innst  needs  wait  — 
turned  again  to  stone  —  for  the  next  word.  It  came 
after  a  pause. 

"And  wha's  the  message  from?" 

"Kindly  tell  her  that  Mr.  Helbeck  is  here  with 
the  dog-cart." 

The  window  closed.  Laura  slipped  into  her 
clothes,  and  by  the  time  Mrs.  Mason  emerged  the 
girl  was  already  in  the  passage. 

"I  heard/'  she  said  briefly.     "Let  iis  go  down." 

Mrs.  Mason,  pale  and  frowning,  led  the  way.  She 
undid  the  heavy  bars  and  lock,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  stood  confronted  —  on  her  own 
threshold  —  with  the  Papist  Squire  of  Bannisdale. 

Mr.  Helbeck  greeted  her  ceremoniously.  But  his 
black  eyes,  so  deep-set  and  cavernous  in  his  strong- 
boned  face,  did  not  seem  to  notice  her.  They  ran 
past  her  to  that  small  shadow  in  the  background. 

"  Are  you  ready  ?  "  he  said,  addressing  the  shadow. 

"  One  moment,  please,"  said  Laura.  She  was 
tying  a  thick  veil  round  her  hat,  and  struggling 
with  the  fastenings  of  her  cloak. 

Mrs.  Mason  looked  from  one  to  another  like  a 
baffled  lioness.  But  to  let  them  go  without  a  word 
was  beyond  her.     She  turned  to  the  Squire. 

"Misther  Helbeck! — yo'U  tell  me  on  your  con- 
science—  as  it's  reet  and  just  —  afther  aw  that's 
passt  —  'at  this  yoong  woman  should  go  wi  yo?" 


268  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

Laura  shivered  with  rage  and  shame.  Her  fingers 
hastened.    Mr.  Helbeck  showed  no  emotion  whatever. 

"  Mrs.  Fountain  is  dying,"  he  said  briefly ;  and 
again  his  eye  —  anxious,  imperious  —  sought  for  the 
girl.  She  came  hastily  forward  from  the  shadows  of 
the  kitchen. 

Mr.  Helbeck  mounted  the  cart,  and  held  out  his 
hand  to  her. 

*'  Have  you  got  a  shawl  ?  The  wind  is  very  keen !  " 
He  spoke  with  the  careful  courtesy  one  uses  to  a 
stranger. 

"  Thank  you  —  I  am  all  right.  Please  let  us  go ! 
Cousin  Elizabeth ! "  Laura  threw  herself  backwards 
a  moment,  as  the  cart  began  to  move,  and  kissed 
her   hand. 

Mrs.  Mason  made  no  sign.  She  watched  the  cart, 
slowly  picking  its  way  over  the  rough  ground  of  the 
farm-yard,  till  it  turned  the  corner  of  the  big  barn  and 
disappeared  in  the  gusty  darkness. 

Then  she  turned  housewards.  She  put  down  her 
guttering  candle  on  the  great  oak  table  of  the  kitchen, 
and  sank  herself  upon  the  settle. 

"  Soa  —  that's  him  !  "  she  said  to  herself ;  and  her 
peasant  mind  in  a  dull  heat,  like  that  of  the  peat  fire 
beside  her,  went  wandering  back  over  the  hatreds  of 
twenty  years. 


CHAPTER   III 

As  the  dog-cart  reached  the  turning  of  the  lane, 
Mr.  Helbeck  said  to  his  companion: 

"Would  you  kindly  take  the  cart  through?  I 
must  shut  the  gate." 

He  jumped  down.  Laura  with  some  difficulty  — 
for  the  high  wind  coming  from  the  fell  increased  her 
general  confusion  of  brain  —  j)^s^6d  the  gate  and  took 
the  pony  safely  down  a  rocky  piece  of  road  beyond. 

His  first  act  in  rejoining  her  was  to  wrap  the  rugs 
which  he  had  brought  more  closely  about  her. 

"I  had  no  idea  in  coming,"  he  said  —  "that  the 
wind  was  so  keen.     Now  we  face  it." 

He  spoke  precisely  in  the  same  voice  that  he  might 
have  used,  say,  to  Polly  Mason  had  she  been  confided 
to  him  for  a  night  journey.  But  as  he  arranged  the 
rug,  his  hand  for  an  instant  had  brushed  Laura's; 
and  when  she  gave  him  the  reins,  she  leant  back 
hardly  able  to  breathe. 

With  a  passionate  effort  of  will,  she  summoned  a 
composure  to  match  his  own. 

"  When  did  the  change  come  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

269 


270  IlKLHECK   OF  BANNISBALE 

"About  eight  o'clurk.  Then  it  was  she  tohl  luc 
you  were  here.  We  thought  at  fivst  of  sending  over 
a  messenger  in  the  morning.  But  finally  nry  sister 
begged  me  to  come  at  onoe." 

"Is  there  immediate  danger?"  The  girlish  voice 
must  needs  tremble. 

"  I  trust  we  shall  still  find  her,"  he  said  gently 
— "  but  her  nurses  were  greatly  alarmed." 

"  And  was  there  —  much  suffering  ?  " 

She  pressed  her  hands  together  under  the  cover- 
ings that  sheltered  them,  in  a  quick  anguish.  Oh ! 
had  she  thought  enough,  cared  enough,  for  Augustina ! 

As  she  spoke  the  horse  gave  a  sudden  swerve,  as 
though  Mr.  Helbeck  had  pulled  the  rein  involun- 
tarily. They  bumped  over  a  large  stone,  and  the 
Squire  hastily  excused  himself  for  bad  driving. 
Then  he  answered  her  question.  As  far  as  he  or 
the  Sister  could  judge  there  Avas  little  active  suffer- 
ing. But  the  weakness  had  increased  rapidly  that 
afternoon,  and  the  breathing  was  much  harassed. 

He  went  on  to  describe  exactly  how  he  had  left 
the  poor  patient,  giving  the  details  with  a  careful 
minuteness.  At  the  same  moment  that  he  had 
started  for  Miss  Fountain,  old  Wilson  had  gone  to 
Whinthorpe  for  the  doctor.  The  Keverend  Mother 
was  there ;  and  the  nurses  —  kind  and  efficient 
women  —  were  doing  all  that  could  be  done. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  271 

He  spoke  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  have  no 
colour  01-  emphasis.  One  wlio  did  nut  know  him 
might  have  thought  he  gave  his  report  entirely 
without  emotion  —  that  his  sister's  coming  death 
did  not  affect  him. 

Laura  longed  to  ask  whether  Father  Bowles  was 
there,  whether  the  last  Sacraments  had  been  given. 
But  she  did  not  dare.  That  question  seemed  to 
belong  to  a  world  that  was  for  ever  sealed  between 
them.     And  he  volunteered  nothing. 

They  entered  on  a  steep  descent  to  the  main 
road.  The  wind  came  in  fierce  gusts  —  so  that 
Laura  had  to  hold  her  hat  on  with  both  hands. 
The  carriage  lamps  wavered  wildly  on  the  great 
junipers  and  hollies,  the  clumps  of  blossoming 
gorse,  that  sprinkled  the  mountain;  sometimes  in 
a  pause  of  the  wind,  there  would  be  a  roar  of 
water,  or  a  rush  of  startled  sheep.  Tumult  had 
taken  possession  of  the  fells  no  less  than  of  the 
girl's  heart. 

Once  she  was  thrown  against  the  Squire's  shoulder, 
and  murmured  a  hurried  "  I  beg  your  pardon."  And 
at  the  same  moment  an  image  of  their  parting  on 
the  stairs  at  Bannisdale  rose  on  the  dark.  She  saw 
his  tall  head  bending  —  herself  kissing  the  breast 
of  his  coat. 

At  last  they  came   out  above   the  great  prospect 


272  HELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

of  moss  and  mountain.  Tliere  was  just  moon 
enough  to  see  it  by;  though  night  and  storm  held 
the  vast  open  cup,  across  which  the  clouds  came 
racing  —  beating  up  from  the  coast  and  the  south- 
west. Ghostly  light  touched  the  river  courses  here 
and  there,  and  showed  the  distant  portal  of  the 
sea.  Through  the  cloud  and  wind  and  darkness 
breathed  a  great  Nature-voice,  a  voice  of  power 
and  infinite  freedom.  Laura  suddenly,  in  a  dim 
passionate  way,  thought  of  the  words  "to  cease 
upon  the  midnight  with  no  pain."  If  life  could 
just  cease,  here,  in  the  wild  dark,  while,  for  the 
last  time  in  their  lives,  they  Avere  once  more  alone 
together !  —  while  in  this  little  cart,  on  this  lonely 
road,  she  was  still  his  charge  and  care  —  dependent 
on  his  man's  strength,  delivered  over  to  him,  and 
him  only  —  out  of  all  the  world. 

When  they  reached  the  lower  road  the  pony 
quickened  his  pace,  and  the  wind  was  less  boisterous. 
The  silence  between  them,  which  had  been  natural 
enough  in  the  high  and  deafening  blasts  of  the  fell, 
began   to   be   itself  a  speech.     The  Squire  broke  it. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  your  cousin  is  doing  so 
well  at  Froswick,"  he  said,  with  formal  courtesy. 

Laura  made  a  fitting  reply,  and  they  talked  a 
little  of  the  chances  of  business,  and  the  growth  of 
Froswick.     Then  the  silence  closed  again. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISJJALE  278 

Presently,  as  the  road  passed  between  stone  walls, 
with  a  grass  strip  on  either  side,  two  dark  forms 
shot  up  in  front  of  them.  The  pony  shied  violently. 
Had  they  been  still  travelling  on  the  edge  of  the 
steep  grass  slope  which  had  stretched  below  them 
for  a  mile  or  so  after  their  exit  from  the  lane,  they 
must  have  upset.  As  it  was,  Laura  w^as  pitched 
against  the  railing  of  the  dog-cart,  and  as  she  in- 
stinctively grasped  it  to  save  herself,  her  wrist  was 
painfully  twisted. 

"  You  are  hurt ! "  said  Helbeck,  pulling  up  the 
pony. 

The  first  cry  of  pain  had  been  beyond  her  con- 
trol. But  she  would  have  died  rather  than  permit 
another. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  said,  "  really  nothing !  What 
was  the  matter  ?  " 

"A  mare  and  her  foal,  as  far  as  I  can  see,"  said 
Helbeck,  looking  behind  him.  "  How  careless'  of  the 
farm  people  !  "  he  added  angrily. 

"  Oh !  they  must  have  strayed,"  said  Laura  faintly. 
All  her  will  was  struggling  with  this  swimming 
brain  —  it  should  not  overpower  her. 

The  tinkling  of  a  small  burn  could  be  heard  be- 
side the  road.  Helbeck  jumped  down.  "Don't 
be  afraid;  the  pony  is  really  quite  quiet  —  he'll 
stand." 

VOL.  II. — T 


274  IlELliECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

lu  a  second  or  two  he  was  back  —  and  just  in 
time.  Laura  knew  well  the  touch  of  the  little  horn 
cup  he  put  into  her  cold  hand.  Many  and  many 
a  time,  in  the  scrambles  of  their  summer  walks,,  had 
he  revived  her  from  it. 

She  drank  eagerly.  When  he  mounted  the  car- 
riage again,  some  strange  instinct  told  her  that  he 
was  not  the  same.  She  divined  —  she  was  sure  of 
an  agitation  in  him  which  at  once  calmed  her  own. 

She  quickly  assured  him  that  she  was  much  bet- 
ter, that  the  pain  was  fast  subsiding.  Then  she 
begged  him  to  hurry  on.  She  even  forced  herself 
to  smile  and  talk. 

"It  was  very  ghostly,  wasn't  it?  Daffady,  oui 
old  cow-man,  will  never  believe  they  were  real  horses. 
He  has  a  story  of  a  bogle  in  this  road  —  a  horse- 
bogle,  too  —  that  makes  one  creep." 

''  Oh !  I  know  that  story,"  said  Helbeck.  "  It 
used  to  be  told  of  several  roads  about  here.  Old 
Wilson  once  said  to  me,  '  When  Aa  wor  yoor/;,  ivery 
field  an  ivery  lane  wor  fu  o'  bogles ! '  It  is  strange 
how  the  old  tales  have  died  out,  while  a  brand  new 
one,  like  our  own  ghost  story,  has  grown  up." 

Laura  murmured  a  "  Yes."  .Had  he  forgotten  who 
was  once  the  ghost  ? 

Silence  fell  again  —  a  silence  in  which  each  heart 
could  almost  hear  the  other  beat.     Oh !  how  wdcked 


i 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  275 

—  wicked  —  would  she  be  if  she  had  come  meddling 
with  his  life  again,  of  her  own  free  will ! 

Here  at  last  was  the  bridge,  and  the  Bannisdale 
gate.  Laura  shut  her  eyes,  and  reckoned  up  the 
minutes  that  remained.  Then,  as  they  sped  up  the 
park,  she  wrestled  indignantly  with  herself.  She 
was  outraged  by  her  own  callousness  towards  this 
death  in  front  of  her.  "  Oh !  let  me  think  of  her ! 
Let  me  be  good  to  her ! "  she  cried,  in  dumb  appeal 
to  some  power  beyond  herself.  She  recalled  her 
father.  She  tried  with  all  her  young  strength  to 
forget  the  man  beside  her  —  and  those  piteous  facts 
that  lay  between  them. 

In  Augustina's  room  —  darkness  —  except  for  one 
shaded  light.  The  doors  were  all  open,  that  the 
poor  tormented  lungs  might  breathe. 

Laura  went  in  softly,  the  Squire  following.  A 
nurse  rose. 

"  She  has  rallied  wonderfully,"  she  said  in  a  cheer- 
ful whisper,  as  she  approached  them,  finger  on  lip. 

"  Laura !  "  said  a  sighing  voice. 

It  came  from  a  deep  old-fashioned  chair,  in  which 
sat  Mrs.  Fountain,  propped  by  many  pillows. 

Laura  went  up  to  her,  and  dropping  on  a  stool  be- 
side her,  the  girl  tenderly  caressed  the  wasted  hand 
that  had  itself  no  strength  to  move  towards  her. 


276  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

In  the  few  hours  since  Laura  had  last  seen  her,  a 
great  change  had  passed  over  Mrs.  Fountain.  Her 
little  face,  usually  so  red,  had  blanched  to  parchment 
Avhite,  and  the  nervous  twitching  of  the  head,  in  the 
general  failure  of  strength,  had  almost  ceased.  She 
lay  stilled  and  refined  under  the  touch  of  death ;  and 
the  sweetness  of  her  blue  eyes  had  grown  more  con- 
scious and  more  noble. 

"Laura — I'm  a  little  better.  But  you  mustn't  go 
again.     Alan  —  she  must  stay  !  " 

She  tried  to  turn  her  head  to  him,  appealing.  The 
Squire  came  forward. 

"  Everything  is  ready  for  Miss  Fountain,  dear  —  if 
she  will  be  good  enough  to  stay.  Nurse  will  provide 
—  and  we  will  send  over  for  any  luggage  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

At  those  words  "  Miss  Fountain,"  a  slight  movement 
passed  over  the  sister's  face. 

"  Laura !  "  she  said  feebly. 

"  Yes,  Augustina  —  I  will.  stay.  I  won't  leave  you 
again." 

"  Your  father  did  wish  it,  didn't  he  ?  " 

The  mention  of  her  father  so  startled  Laura  that 
the  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes,  and  she  dropped  her  face 
for  a  moment  on  Mrs.  Fountain's  hand.  When  she 
lifted  it  she  was  no  longer  conscious  that  Helbeck 
stood  beliind  his  sister's  chair,  looking  down  upon 
them  both. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  277 

"  Yes  —  always,  dear.  Do  you  remember  what  a 
good  nurse  he  was  ?  —  so  much  better  than  I  ?  " 

Her  face  shone  through  the  tears  that  bedewed  it. 
Already  the  emotion  of  her  drive  —  the  last  battles 
with  the  wind  —  had  for  the  moment  restored  the 
brilliancy  of  eye  and  cheek.  Even  Augustina's  dim 
sight  was  held  by  her,  and  by  the  tumbled  gold  of  her 
hair  as  it  caught  the  candle-light. 

But  the  name  which  had  given  Laura  a  thrill  of 
joy  had  roused  a  disturbed  and  troubled  echo  in  Mrs. 
Fountain. 

She  looked  miserably  at  her  brother  and  asked  for 
her  beads.  He  put  them  across  her  hand,  and  then, 
bending  over  her  chair,  he  said  a  ''  Hail  Mary  "  and 
an  "  Our  Father,"  in  which  she  faintly  joined. 

"  And  Alan  —  will  Father  Leadham  come  to- 
morrow ?  " 

''  Without  fail." 

A  little  later  Laura  was  in  her  old  room  with  Sister 
Rosa.  The  doctor  had  paid  his  visit.  But  for  the 
moment  the  collapse  of  the  afternoon  had  been  ar- 
rested ;  Mrs.  Fountain  was  in  no  urgent  danger. 

"Now  then,"  said  the  nurse  cheerily,  when  Miss 
Fountain  had  been  supplied  with  all  necessaries  for 
sleep,  "let  us  look  at  that  arm,  please." 

Laura  turned  in  surprise. 


278  IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

"  Mr.  Helbeck  tells  lue  you  wrenched  your  wrist  on 
the  tlrive.  He  thought  you  would  perhaps  allow  me 
to  treat  it." 

Laura  submitted.  It  was  indeed  nearly  helpless  and 
much  swollen,  though  she  had  been  hardly  conscious 
of  it  since  the  little  accident  happened.  The  brisk, 
black-eyed  Sister  had  soon  put  a  comforting  bandage 
round  it,  chattering  all  the  time  of  Mrs.  Fountain  and 
the  ups  and  downs  of  the  illness. 

"  She  missed  you  very  much  after  you  went  yester- 
day. But  now,  I  suppose,  you  will  stay  ?  It  won't  be 
long,  poor  lady  !  " 

The  Sister  gave  a  little  professional  sigh,  and  Laura, 
of  course,  repeated  that  she  must  certainly  stay.  As 
the  Sister  broke  off  the  cotton  with  which  she  had 
been  stitching  the  bandage,  she  stole  a  curious  glance 
at  her  patient.  She  had  not  frequented  the  orphan- 
age in  her  off-time  for  nothing;  and  she  was  perfectly 
aware  of  the  anxiety  with  which  the  Catholic  friends 
of  Bannisdale  must  needs  view  the  re-entry  of  Miss 
Fountain.  Sister  Rosa,  who  spoke  French  readily, 
wondered  whether  it  had  not  been  after  all  "  reculer 
pour  mieux  sauter." 

After  a  first  restless  sleep  of  sheer  fatigue,  Laura 
found  herself  sitting  up  in  bed  struggling  with  a  sense 
of  horrible  desolation.  Augustina  was  dead  —  Mr. 
Helbeck  was  gone,  was  a   Jesuit  —  and   she   herself 


HELBECK  OF  BAN  NISI)  ALE  279 

was  left  alone  in  the  old  house,  weeping — with  no 
one,  not  a  living  soul,  to  hear.  That  was  the  impres- 
sion ;  and  it  was  long  before  she  could  disentangle 
truth  from  nightmare. 

When  she  lay  down  again,  sleep  was  banished.  She 
lit  a  candle  and  waited  for  the  dawn.  There  in  the 
tiickering  light  were  the  old  tapestries  —  the  princess 
stepping  into  her  boat,  Diana  ranging  through  the 
wood.  Nothing  was  changed  in  the  room  or  its 
furniture.  But  the  Laura  who  had  fretted  or  dreamed 
there ;  who  had  written  her  first  letter  to  Molly  Fried- 
land  from  that  table;  who  had  dressed  for  her  lover's 
eye  before  that  rickety  glass ;  who  had  been  angry 
or  sullen,  or  madly  happy  there  —  why,  the  Laura 
who  now  for  the  second  time  watched  the  spring 
dawn  through  that  diaraond-paned  window  looked 
back  upon  her  as  the  figures  in  Rossetti's  strange 
picture  meet  the  ghosts  of  their  old  selves  —  with  the 
same  sense  of  immeasurable,  irrevocable  distance. 
What  childish  follies  and  impertinences  !  —  what  mis- 
understanding of  others,  and  misreckoning  of  the 
things  that  most  concerned  her  —  what  blind  drifting 
—  what  inevitable  shipwreck ! 

Ah !  this  aching  of  the  whole  being,  physical  and 
moral,  —  again  she  asked  herself,  only  with  a  wilder 
impatience,  how  long  it  could  be  borne. 

The  wind  had  fallen,  but  in  the  pause  of  the  dawn 


280  riELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

the  river  spoke  with  the  liills.  The  light  mounted 
quickly.  Soon  the  first  glint  of  sun  came  through  the 
curtains..  Laura  extinguished  her  candle,  and  went  to 
let  in  the  day.  As  on  that  first  morning,  she  stood  in 
the  window,  following  with  her  eye  the  foaming 
curves  of  the  Greet,  or  the  last  streaks  of  snow  upon 
the  hills,  or  the  daffodil  stars  in  the  grass. 

Hush  !  — what  time  was  it  ?  She  ran  for  her  watch. 
Nearly  seven. 

She  wrapped  a  shawl  about  her,  and  went  back  to 
her  post,  straining  to  see  the  path  on  the  further  side 
of  the  river  through  the  mists  that  still  hung  about  it. 
Suddenly  her  head  dropped  upon  her  hands.  One  sob 
forced  its  way.     Helbeck  had  passed. 

For  some  three  weeks,  after  this  April  night,  the 
old  house  of  Bannisdale  was  the  scene  of  one  of  those 
dramas  of  life  and  death  Avhich  depend,  not  upon 
external  incident,  but  upon  the  inner  realities  of  the 
heart,  its  inextinguishable  affections,  hopes,  and 
agonies. 

Helbeck  and  Laura  were  once  more  during  this 
time  brought  into  close  and  intimate  contact  by  the 
claims  of  a  common  humanity.  The}^  were  united  by 
the  common  effort  to  soften  the  last  journey  for 
Augustina,  by  all  the  little  tendernesses  and  cares 
that  a  sick  room  imposes,  by  the  pities  and  charities, 


HELBECK   OF  liANNISDALE  281 

the  small  renascent  hopes  and  fears  of  each  successive 
day  and  night. 

But  all  the  while,  how  deeply  were  they  divided !  — 
how  sharp  was  the  clash  between  the  reviving  strength 
of  passion,  which  could  not  but  feed  itself  on  the 
daily  sight  and  contact  of  the  beloved  person,  and 
those  facts  of  character  and  individuality  which 
held  them  separated !  —  facts  which  are  always,  and 
in  all  cases,  the  true  facts  of  this  world. 

In  Helbeck  the  shock  of  Laura's  October  flight 
had  worked  with  profound  and  transforming  power. 
After  those  first  desperate  days  in  which  he  had 
merely  sought  to  recover  her,  to  break  down  her 
determination,  or  to  understand  if  he  could  the 
grounds  on  which  she  had  acted,  a  new  conception 
of  his  own  life  and  the  meaning  of  it  had  taken  pos- 
session of  him.  He  fell  into  the  profoundest  humil- 
iation and  self-abasement,  denouncing  himself  as  a 
traitor  to  his  faith,  who  out  of  mere  self-delusion, 
and  a  lawless  love  of  ease,  had  endangered  his  own 
obedience,  and  neglected  the  plain  task  laid  upon 
him.  That  fear  of  proselytism,  that  humble  dread 
of  his  OAvn  influence,  which  had  once  determined  his 
whole  attitude  towards  those  about  him,  began  now 
to  seem  to  him  mere  wretched  cowardice  and  self- 
will  —  the  caprice  of  the  servant  who  tries  to  better 
his  master's  instructions. 


282  UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

But  now  I  cast  that  finer  sense 

And  sorer  shame  aside  ; 
Sucli  dread  of  sin  was  indolence, 

Such  aim  at  heaven  was  pride. 

Again  and  again  he  said  to  liimseli  that  if  he  had 
struck  at  once  for  the  Church  and  for  the  Faith  at 
the  moment  when  Laura's  young  heart  was  first 
opened  to  him,  wlien  under  the  earliest  influences 
of  lier  love  for  him  —  how  could  he  doubt  that  she 
had  loved  him  !  —  her  nature  was  still  plastic,  still 
capable  of  being  won  to  God,  as  it  were,  by  a  coup 
de  main  —  might  not  —  would  not  —  all  have  been 
well  ?  But  no  I  —  he  must  needs  believe  that  God 
had  given  her  to  him  for  ever,  that  there  was  room 
for  all  the  gradual  softening,  the  imperceptible  ap- 
proaches by  which  he  had  hoped  to  win  her.  It  had 
seemed  to  him  the  process  could  not  be  too  gentle, 
too  iudulgent.  And  meanwhile  the  will  and  mind 
that  might  have  been  captured  at  a  rush  had  time 
to  harden  —  the  forces  of  revolt  to  gather. 

What  wonder?  Oh!  blind  —  infatuate!  How  could 
he  have  hoped  to  bring  her,  still  untouched,  within 
the  circle  of  his  Catholic  life,  into  contact  with  its 
secrets  and  its  renunciations,  without  recoil  on  her 
part,  without  risk  of  what  had  actually  happened  ? 
The  strict  regulation  of  every  hour,  every  habit,  every 
thought,  at  which  he   aimed   as   a   Catholic  —  what 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  283 

could  it  seem  to  her  but  a  dreary  and  forbidding 
tyranny  ?  —  to  her  wlio  had  no  chie  to  it,  who  was 
still  left  free,  though  she  loved  him,  to  judge  his 
faith  coldly  from  outside  ?  And  when  at  last  he 
had  begun  to  drop  hesitation,  to  change  his  tone  — 
then,  it  was  too  late! 

Tyranny !  She  had  used  that  word  once  or  twice, 
in  that  first  letter  which  had  reached  him  on  the 
evening  of  her  flight,  and  in  a  subsequent  one.  Not 
of  anything  that  had  been,  apparently  —  but  of  that 
which  might  be.  It  had  wounded  him  to  the  very 
quick. 

And  yet,  in  truth,  the  course  of  his  present 
thoughts  —  plainly  interpreted  —  meant  little  else 
than  this  —  that  if,  at  the  right  moment,  he  had 
coerced  her  with  success,  they  might  both  have  been 

happy. 

Later  on  he  had  seen  his  owii  self-judgment  re- 
flected in  the  faces,  the  consolations,  of  his  few  inti- 
mate friends.  Father  Leadham,  for  instance — whose 
letters  had  been  his  chief  support  during  a  period  of 
dumb  agony  when  he  had  felt  himself  more  than  once 
on  the  brink  of  some  morbid  trouble  of  brain. 

"I  foimd  her  adamant,"  said  Father  Leadham. 
"Never  was  I  so  powerless  with  any  human  soul. 
She  would  not  discuss  anything.  She  would  only 
say   that   she  was   born   in  freedom  —  and  free  she 


284  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

would  remain.  All  that  T  nrg-ed  upon  her  implied 
beliefs  in  which  she  had  not  been  brought  up,  which 
were  not  her  father's  and  were  not  hers.  Nor  on 
closer  experience  had  she  been  any  more  drawn  to 
them  —  quite  the  contrary  ;  whatever  —  and  there, 
poor  child!  her  eyes  filled  Avith  tears — whatever 
she  might  feel  towards  those  who  held  them.  She 
said  fiercely  that  you  had  never  argued  with  her  or 
persuaded  her  —  or  perhaps  only  once ;  that  you  had 
promised  —  this  with  an  indignant  look  at  me  — 
that  there  should  be  no  pressure  upon  her.  And  I 
could  but  feel  sadly,  dear  friend,  that  you  only,  under 
our  Blessed  Lord,  could  have  influenced  her ;  and  that 
you,  by  some  deplorable  mistake  of  judgment,  had 
been  led  to  feel  that  it  was  wrong  to  do  so.  And  if 
ever,  I  will  even  venture  to  say,  violence  —  spiritual 
violence,  the  violence  that  taketh  by  storm  —  could 
have  been  justified,  it  would  have  been  in  this  case. 
Her  affections  were  all  yours;  she  was,  but  for  you 
and  her  stepmother,  alone  in  the  world ;  and  amid  all 
her  charms  and  gifts,  a  soul  more  starved  and  desti- 
tute I  never  met  with.  May  our  Lord  and  His 
Immaculate  Mother  strengthen  you  to  bear  your 
sorrow!  For  your  friends,  there  are  and  must  ])e 
consolations  in  this  catastrophe.  The  cross  that  such 
a  marriage  would  have  laid  upon  you  must  have  been 
heavy  indeed." 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  285 

Harassed  by  such  thouglits  and  memories  Helbecli 
passed  through  these  strange,  these  miserable  days 
—  when  he  and  Laura  were  once  more  under  the 
same  roof,  living  the  same  household  life.  Like 
Laura,  he  clung  to  every  hour ;  like  Laura,  he  found 
it  almost  more  than  he  could  bear.  He  suffered 
now  with  a  fierceness,  a  moroseness,  unknown  to 
him  of  old.  Every  permitted  mortification  that  could 
torment  the  body  or  humble  the  mind  he  brought 
into  play  during  these  weeks,  and  still  could  not 
prevent  himself  from  feeling  every  sound  of  Laura's 
voice  and  every  rustle  of  her  dress  as  a  rough  touch 
upon  a  sore. 

What  was  in  her  mind  all  the  time  —  behind  those 
clear  indomitable  eyes?  He  dared  not  let  himself 
think  of  the  signs  of  grief  that  were  written  so 
plainly  on  her  delicate  face  and  frame.  One  day  he 
found  himself  looking  at  her  from  a  distance  in  a 
passionate  bewilderment.  So  white  —  so  sad!  For 
what?  Wliat  was  this  freedom,  this  atrocious  free- 
dom—  that  a  creature  so  fragile,  so  unfit  to  wield  it, 
had  yet  claimed  so  fatally  ?  His  thoughts  fell  back 
to  Stephen  Fountain,  cursing  an  influence  at  once  so 
intangible  and  so  strong. 

It  was  some  relief  that  they  were  in  no  risk  of 
tCde-drtete    outside    Augustina's    sick    room.      One    or 


286  llELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

other  of  the  nurses  was  always  present  at  meals, 
And  on  the  day  after  Laura's  arrival  Father  Lead- 
ham  appeared  and  stayed  for  ten  days. 

The  relations  of  the  Jesuit  towards  Miss  Fountain 
during  this  time  were  curious.  It  was  [)lain  to 
Helbeek  that  Father  Leadham  treated  the  girl  with 
a  new  respect,  and  that  she  on  her  side  showed  her- 
self nuich  more  at  ease  with  him  than  she  had  used 
to  be.  It  was  as  though  they  had  tested  each  other, 
with  the  result  that  each  had  found  in  the  other 
something  nobler  and  sincerer  than  they  had  ex- 
pected  to  find.  Laura  might  be  spiritually  destitute  ; 
but  it  was  evident  that  since  his  conversation  with 
her,  Father  Leadham  had  realised  for  the  first  time 
the  "  charms  and  gifts  "  which  might  be  supposed  to 
have  captured  Mr.  Helbeck. 

So  that  when  they  met  at  meals,  or  in  the  in- 
valid's room,  the  Jesuit  showed  Miss  Fountain  a 
very  courteous  attention.  He  was  fresh  from  Cam- 
bridge ;  he  brought  her  gossip  of  her  friends  and 
acquaintances;  he  said  pleasant  things  of  the  Fried- 
lands.  She  talked  in  return  with  an  ease  that  as- 
tonished Helbeck  and  his  sister.  She  seemed  to 
both  to  have  grown  years  older. 

It  was  the  same  with  all  the  other  Catholic 
haunters  of  the  house.  For  the  first  time  she  dis- 
covered how  to  get  on  with  the   Reverend   Mother, 


HELBECK   OF  BANXISDALE  287 

even  with  Sister  Angela  —  how  not  to  find  Father 
Bowles  himself  too  wearisome.  She  moved  among 
them  with  a  dignity,  perhaps  an  indifference,  that 
changed  her  wholly. 

Once,  when  she  had  been  chatting  in  the  friendliest 
way  with  the  Reverend  Mother,  she  paused  for  a 
moment  in  the  passage  outside  Augustina's  room, 
amazed  at  herself. 

It  was  liberty,  no  doubt  —  this  strange  and  desolate 
liberty  in  which  she  stood,  that  made  the  contrast. 
By  some  obscure  association  she  fell  on  the  words  that 
Helbeck  had  once  quoted  to  her  —  how  differently ! 
"  My  soul  is  escaped  like  a  bird  out  of  the  snare  of  the 
fowler ;  the  snare  is  broken,  and  we  are  delivered." 

"  Ah !  but  the  bird's  wings  are  broken  and  its  breast 
pierced.  What  can  it  do  with  its  poor  freedom  ?  "  she 
said  to  herself,  in  a  passion  of  tears. 

Meanwhile,  she  realised  the  force  of  the  saying  that 
Catholicism  is  the  faith  to  die  in. 

The  concentration  of  all  these  Catholic  minds  upon 
the  dying  of  Augustina,  the  busy  fraternal  help 
evoked  by  every  stage  of  her  via  dolorosa,  was  indeed 
marvellous  to  see.  "It  is  a  work  of  art,"  Laura 
thought,  with  that  new  power  of  observation  which 
had  developed  in  her.  "  It  is  —  it  must  be  —  the  most 
wonderful  thing  of  its  sort  in  the  world !  " 


288  riELIiECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

For  it  was  no  mere  haphazard  series  of  feelings  or 
kindnesses.  It  was  an  act  —  a  function  — this  "  good 
death  "  on  which  the  sufferer  and  those  who  assisted 
her  were  equally  bent.  Something  had  to  be  done, 
a  process  to  be  gone  through ;  and  everyone  was 
anxiously  bent  upon  doing  it  in  the  right,  the  pre- 
scribed, way  —  upon  omitting  nothing.  The  physical 
fact,  indeed,  became  comparatively  unimportant,  ex- 
cept as  the  evoking  cause  of  certain  symbolisms  — 
nay,  certain  actual  and  direct  contacts  between  earth 
and  heaven,  which  were  the  distraction  of  death  itself 
—  which  took  precedence  of  it,  and  reduced  ifc  to 
insignificance. 

When  Father  Leadham  left,  Father  BoAvles  came  to 
stay  in  the  house,  and  Communion  was  given  to  Mrs. 
Fountain  every  day.  Two  or  three  times  a  week,  also. 
Mass  was  said  in  her  room.  Laura  assisted  once  or 
twice  at  these  scenes  —  the  blaze  of  lights  and  flowers 
in  the  old  panelled  room — the  altar  adorned  with 
splendid  fittings  brought  from  the  chapel  below  —  the 
small,  blanched  face  in  the  depths  of  the  great  tapes- 
tried bed  —  the  priest  bending  over  it. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  in  the  early  morning, 
when  the  candles  on  the  altar  were  almost  effaced  by 
the  first  brilliance  of  a  May  day,  Laura  stole  away 
from  the  darkened  room  where  Mrs.  Fountain  lay 
soothed  and  sleeping,  and  stood  for  long  at  an  open 
window  overlooking  the  wild  valley  outside. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  289 

She  was  stifled  by  the  scent  of  flowers  and  burning 
wax;  still  more,  mentally  oppressed.  The  leaping 
river,  the  wide  circuit  of  the  fells,  the  blowing  of  the 
May  wind  !  —  to  them,  in  a  great  reaction,  the  girl 
gave  back  her  soul,  passionately  resting  in  them. 
They  were  no  longer  a  joy  and  intoxication.  But  the 
veil  lifted  between  her  and  them.  They  became  a 
sanctuary  and  refuge. 

From  the  Martha  of  the  old  faith,  so  careful  and 
troubled  about  many  things  —  sins  and  penances, 
creeds  and  sacraments,  the  miraculous  hauntings  of 
words  and  objects,  of  water  and  wafer,  of  fragments 
of  bone  and  stuff,  of  scapulars  and  medals,  of  cruci- 
fixes and  indulgences  —  her  mind  turned  to  this  Mary 
of  a  tameless  and  patient  nature,  listening  and  loving 
in  the  sunlight. 

Only,  indeed,  to  destroy  her  own  fancy  as  soon  as 
woven !  Nature  was  pain  and  combat,  too,  no  less  than 
Faith.  But  here,  at  least,  was  no  jealous  lesson  to  be 
learnt ;  no  exclusions,  no  conditions.  Her  rivers  were 
deep  and  clear  for  all ;  her  "  generous  sun "  was  lit 
for  all.  What  she  promised  she  gave.  Without  any 
preliminary  credo,  her  colours  glowed,  her  breezes 
blew  for  the  unhapp}^  Oh !  such  a  purple  shadow  on 
the  fells  —  such  a  red  glory  of  the  oak  twigs  in  front 
of  it  —  such  a  white  sparkle  of  the  Greet,  parting  the 
valley  ! 

VOL,  II.  —  c 


290  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

What  need  of  any  other  sacraineiit  or  sign  than 
these  —  this  beauty  and  bounty  of  the  continuing 
world'.'  Indeed,  Friedhmd  had  once  said  to  her, 
''The  joy  that  Catholics  feel  in  the  sacrament,  the 
plain  believer  in  God  will  get  day  by  day  out  of  the 
simplest  things  —  out  of  a  gleam  on  the  hills  —  a 
purple  in  the  distance  —  a  light  on  the  river;  still 
more  out  of  any  tender  or  heroic  action." 

She  thought  very  wistfully  of  her  old  friend  and 
his  talk ;  but  here  also  with  a  strange  sense  of  dis- 
tance, of  independence.  How  the  river  dashed  and 
raced!  There  had  been  wild  nights  of  rain  andd  this 
May  beauty,  and  the  stream  was  high.  Day  by  day, 
of  late,  she  had  made  it  her  comrade.  Whenever  she 
left  Augustina  it  was  always  to  wander  beside  it,  or 
to  sit  above  it,  cradled  and  lost  in  that  full  trium- 
phant song  it  went  uttering  to  the  spring. 

But  there  was  a  third  person  in  the  play,  by  no 
means  so  passive  an  actor  as  Laura  was  wont  to 
imagine  her. 

There  is  often  a  marvellous  education  in  such  a 
tedious  parting  with  the  world  as  Augustina  was 
enduring.  If  the  physical  conditions  allow  it,  the 
soul  of  the  feeblest  will  acquire  a  new  dignity,  and 
perceptions  more  to  the  point.  As  she  lay  looking  at 
the  persons  who  surrounded  her,  Augustina   passed 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  291 

without  an  effort,  and  yet  wonderfully,  as  it  seemed 
to  her,  into  a  new  stage  of  thought  and  desire  about 
them.  A  fresh,  an  eager  ambition  sprang  up  in  her, 
partly  of  the  woman,  partly  of  the  believer.  She  had 
been  blind  ;  now  she  saw.  She  felt  the  power  of  her 
weakness,  and  she  would  seize  it. 

Meanwhile,  she  made  a  rally  which  astonished  all 
the  doctors.  Towards  the  end  of  the  second  week  in 
May  she  had  recovered  strength  so  far  that  on  several 
occasions  she  was  carried  down  the  chapel  passage  to 
the  garden,  and  placed  in  a  sheltered  corner  of  the 
beech  hedge,  where  she  could  see  the  bright  turf  of 
the  bowling-green  and  the  distant  trees  of  the 
"  Wilderness." 

One  afternoon  Helbeck  came  out  to  sit  with  her. 
He  was  no  sooner  there  than  she  became  so  restless 
that  he  asked  her  if  he  should  recall  Sister  Rosa,  who 
had  retired  to  a  distant  patch  of  shade. 

"No  —  no!  Alan,  I  want  to  say  something.  Will 
you  raise  my  pillow  a  little  ?  " 

He  did  so,  and  she  looked  at  him  for  a  moment 
with  her  haunting  blue  eyes,  without  speaking.  But 
at  last  she  said : 

"  Where  is  Laura  ?  " 

"  Indoors,  I  believe." 

"  Don't  call  her.  I  have  been  talking  to  her,  Alan, 
about  —  about  what  she  means  to  do." 


292  llELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

"Did  she  tell  you  her  plans  ?  " 

He  spol^e  very  calmly,  holding  his  sister's  hand. 

"  She  doesn't  seem  to  have  any.  The  Priedlands 
have  offered  her  a  home,  of  course.  Alan  !  —  will  you 
put  your  ear  down  to  me  ?  " 

He  stooped,  and  she  whispered  brokenly,  holding 
him  several  times  when  he  would  have  drawn  back. 

But  at  last  he  released  himself.  A  flush  had  stolen 
over  his  fine  and  sharpened  features. 

"My  dear  sister,  if  it  were  so  —  what  difference 
can  it  make  ?  " 

He  spoke  with  a  quick  interrogation.  But  his 
glance  had  an  intensity,  it  expressed  a  determination, 
which  made  her  cry  out  — 

"  Alan  —  if  she  gave  way  ?  " 

"  She  will  7iever  give  way.  She  has  more  self- 
control  ;  but  her  mind  is  in  precisely  the  same  bitter 
and  envenomed  state.  Indeed,  she  has  grown  more 
fixed,  more  convinced.  The  influence  of  her  Cam- 
bridge friends  has  been  decisive.  Every  day  I  feel 
for  what  she  has  to  bear  and  put  up  with  —  poor 
child!  —  in  this  house." 

"It  can't  be  for  long,"  said  Augustina  with  tears; 
and  she  lay  for  a  while,  pondering,  and  gathering 
force.  But  presently  she  made  her  brother  stoop 
to  her  again. 

"  Alan  —  please  listen  to  me  !     If  Laura  did  become 


RELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  293 

a  Catholic  —  is  there  anything  in  the  way  —  any- 
thing you  can't  undo  ?  " 

He  raised  himself  quickly.  He  would  have  suf- 
fered these  questions  from  no  one  else.  The  stern 
and  irritable  temper  that  he  inherited  from  his 
father  had  gained  fast  upon  the  old  self-control 
since  the  events  of  October.  Even  now,  with  Augus- 
tina,  he  was  short. 

"  I  shall  take  no  vows,  dear,  before  the  time. 
But  it  would  please  me  —  it  would  console  me  — 
if  you  would  put  all  these  things  out  of  your  head. 
I  see  the  will  of  God  very  plainly.  Let  us  submit 
to  it." 

''  It  hurts  me  so  —  to  see  you  suffer ! "  she  said, 
looking  at  him  piteously. 

He  bent  over  the  grass,  struggling  for  composure. 

"  I  shall  have  something  else  to  do  before  long," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "than  to  consider  my  own 
happiness." 

She  was  framing  another  question,  when  there  was 
a  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  gravel  behind  them. 

Augustina  exclaimed,  with  the  agitation  of  weak- 
ness, "  Don't  let  any  visitors  come ! "  Helbeck 
looked  a  moment  in  astonishment,  then  his  face 
cleared. 

"  Augustina !  —  it  is  the  relic  —  from  the  Carmelite 
nuns.     I  recognise  their  Confessor." 


294  UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

Augustina  clasped  her  hands;  and  Sister  Rosa, 
obeying  Helbeck's  signal,  came  (quickly  over  to  her. 
Mr.  Ilelbeck  bared  his  head  and  walked  over  the 
grass  to  meet  the  strange  priest,  who  was  carrying 
a  small  leather  box. 

Soon  there  was  a  happy  gronp  ronnd  Angustina's 
couch.  The  Confessor  who  had  brought  this  precious 
relic  of  St.  John  of  the  Cross  had  opened  the  case, 
and  placed  the  small  and  delicate  reliquary  that  it 
contained  in  Mrs.  Fountain's  hands.  She  lay  clasp- 
ing it  to  her  breast,  too  weak  to  speak,  but  flushed 
with  joy.  The  priest,  a  southern-eyed  kindly  man, 
with  an  astonishing  flow  of  soft  pietistic  talk,  sat 
beside  her,  speaking  soothingly  of  the  many  marvels 
of  cure  or  conversion  that  had  been  wrought  by  the 
treasure  she  held.  He  was  going  on  to  hold  a  retreat 
at  a  convent  of  the  order  near  Froswick,  and  would 
return,  he  said,  by  Bannisdale  in  a  week's  time,  to 
reclaim  his  charge.  The  nuns,  he  repeated  with 
gentle  emphasis,  had  never  done  such  an  honour 
to  any  sick  person  before.  But  for  IVIr.  Helbeck's 
sister  nothing  was  too  much.  And  a  novena  had 
already  been  started  at  the  convent.  The  nuns 
were  praying  —  praying  hard  that  the  relic  might 
do  its  holy  work. 

He  was  still  talking  when  there  was  a  step  and 
a   sound   of    low    singing    behind   the   beech    hedge. 


H  EL  BECK  OF  BANNISDALE  2  On 

The  garden  was  so  divided  by  gigantic  hedges  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  which  formed  a  kind  of  Greek 
cross  in  its  centre,  that  many  different  actions  or 
conversations  might  be  taking  place  in  it  without 
knowing  anything  one  of  the  other.  Laura,  who 
had  been  away  for  an  hour,  was  not  aware  that 
Augustina  was  in  the  garden  till  she  came  through 
a  little  tunnel  in  the  hedge,  and  saw  the  group. 

The  priest  looked  up,  startled  by  the  appearance 
of  the  young  lady.  Laura  had  marked  the  outburst 
of  warm  weather  by  the  donning  of  a  white  dress  and 
her  summer  hat.  In  one  hand  she  held  a  bunch  of 
lilac  that  she  had  been  gathering  for  her  stepmother ; 
in  the  other  a  volume  of  a  French  life  of  St.  Theresa 
that  she  had  taken  an  hour  before  from  Augustina's 
table.  In  anticipation  of  the  great  favor  promised 
her  by  the  Carmelite  nuns,  Augustina  had  been  listen- 
ing feebly  from  time  to  time  to  her  brother's  reading 
from  the  biography  of  the  greatest  of  Carmelite  saints 
and  founders. 

"  Laura !  *'  said  Mrs.  Fountain  faintly. 

Helbeck's  expression  changed.  He  bent  over  his 
sister,  and  said  in  a  low  decided  voice,  "Will  you 
give  me  the  relic,  dear  ?     I  will  return  it  to  its  case." 

"  Oh,  no,  Alan,"  she  said  imploringly.  "  Laura,  do 
you  know  what  those  kind  dear  nuns  have  done? 
They  have  sent  me  their  relic.     And  I  feel  so  much 


296  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

better  already  —  so  relieved  !  "  Mrs.  Fountain  raised 
the  little  case  and  kissed  it  fervently.  Then  she  held 
it  out  for  Laura  to  see. 

The  girl  bent  over  it  in  silence. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  said. 

"It  is  a  relic  of  St.  John  of  the  Cross,"  said  the 
priest  opposite,  glancing  curiously  at  Miss  Fountain. 
"It  once  belonged  to  the  treasury  of  the  Cathedral 
of  Seville,  and  was  stolen  during  the  great  war.  But 
it  has  been  now  formally  conveyed  to  our  community 
by  the  Archbishop  and  Chapter." 

"Wasn't  it  kind  of  the  dear  nuns,  Laura?"  said 
Augustina  fervently. 

"I  —  I  suppose  so,"  said  Laura,  in  a  low  embarrassed 
voice.  Helbeck,  who  was  watching  her,  saw  that  she 
could  hardly  restrain  the  shudder  of  repulsion  that 
ran  through  her. 

Her  extraordinary  answer  threw  a  silence  on  the 
party.  The  tears  started  to  the  sick  woman's  cheeks. 
The  priest  rose  to  take  his  leave.  Mrs.  Fountain 
asked  him  for  an  absolution  and  a  blessing.  He  gave 
them,  coldly  bowed  to  Laura,  shook  hands  with  Sister 
Rosa,  and  took  his  departure,  Helbeck  conducting  him. 

"Oh,  Laura!"  said  Mrs.  Fountain  reproachfully. 
The  girl's  lips  were  quite  white.  She  knelt  down  by 
her  stepmother  and  kissed  her  hand. 

"Dear,  I  wouldn't  have  hurt  you  for  the  world!    It 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  297 

was  something  I  had  been  reading  —  it  —  it  seemed 
to  me  horrible!  —  just  for  a  moment.  Of  course  I'm 
glad  it  comforts  you,  poor  darling!  —  of  course  —  of 
course,  I  am ! " 

Mrs.  Fountain  was  instantly  api:)eased  —  for  herself. 

"But  Alan  felt  it  so,"  she  said  restlessly,  as  she 
closed  her  eyes  —  "what  you  said.    I  saw  his  face." 

It  was  time  for  the  invalid  to  be  moved,  and  Sister 
Rosa  had  gone  for  help.  Laura  was  left  for  a  moment 
kneeling  by  her  stepmother.  No  one  could  see  her ; 
the  penitence  and  pain  in  the  girl's  feeling  showed  in 
her  pallor,  her  pitiful  dropping  lip. 

Helbeck  was  heard  returning.  Laura  looked  up. 
Instinctively  she  rose  and  proudly  drew  herself 
together.  Never  yet  had  she  seen  that  face  so 
changed.  It  breathed  the  sternest,  most  concentrated 
anger  —  a  storm  of  feeling  that,  in  spite  of  the  abso- 
lute silence  that  held  it  in  curb,  yet  so  communicated 
itself  to  her  that  her  heart  seemed  to  fail  in  her 
breast. 

A  few  minutes  later  Miss  Fountain,  having  gathered 
together  a  few  scattered  possessions  of  the  invalid, 
was  passing  through  the  chapel  passage.  A  step 
approached  from  the  hall,  and  Helbeck  confronted 
her. 

"  Miss  Fountain  —  may  I  ask  you  a  kindness  ?  " 


208  llELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

What  a  tone  of  steel!     Her  shoulders  straightened 

—  her  look  met  his  in  a  coiuiiion  Hash. 
"Augustina  is  weak.     Spare  her  discussion  —  the 

sort  of  discussion  with  which,  no  doubt,  your  Cam- 
bridge life  makes  you  familiar.  It  can  do  nothing 
here,  and"  —  he  paused,  only  to  resume  unflinchingly 

—  "the  dying  should  not  be  disturbed." 

Laura  wavered  in  the  dark  passage  like  one  mortally 
struck.  His  pose  as  the  protector  of  his  sister  —  the 
utter  distance  and  alienation  of  his  tone  —  unjust !  — 
incredible ! 

"  I  discussed  nothing,"  she  said,  breathing  fast. 

"You  might  be  drawn  to  do  so,"  he  said  coldly. 
"  Your  contempt  for  the  practices  that  sustain  and 
console  Catholics  is  so  strong  that  no  one  can  mistake 
the  difficulty  you  have  in  concealing  it.  But  I  would 
ask  you  to  conceal  it  for  her  sake." 

"  I  thank  you,"  she  said  quietly,  as  she  swept  past 
him.     "  But  you  are  mistaken." 

She  walked  away  from  him  and  mounted  the  stairs 
without  another  w^ord. 

Laura  sat  crouched  and  rigid  in  her  own  room. 
How  had  it  happened,  this  horrible  thing?  —  this 
break-down  of  the  last  vestiges  and  relics  of  the  old 
relation  —  this  rushing  in  of  a  temper  and  a  hostility 
that  stunned  her ! 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  299 

She  looked  at  the  book  on  her  knee.  Then  she  re- 
membered. In  the  "  AN'ilderness  "  she  had  been  read- 
ing that  hideous  account  which  appears  in  all  the 
longer  biographies,  of  the  mutilation  of  St.  Theresa's 
body  three  years  after  her  death  by  some  relic-hunting 
friars  from  Avila.  In  a  ruthless  haste,  these  pious 
thieves  had  lifted  the  poor  embalmed  corpse  from  its 
resting-place  at  Alba ;  they  had  cut  the  old  woman's 
arm  from  the  shoulder ;  they  had  left  it  behind  in 
the  rilled  coffin,  and  then  hastily  huddling  up  the 
body,  they  had  fled  southwards  with  their  booty, 
while  the  poor  nuns,  who  had  loved  and  buried 
their  dead  "  mother,"  who  had  been  shut  by  a 
trick  into  their  own  choir  while  the  awful  thing  was 
done,  were  still  singing  the  office,  ignorant  and 
happy. 

The  girl  had  read  the  story  with  sickening.  Then 
Augustina  had  held  up  to  her  the  relic  case,  with  that 
shrivelled  horror  inside  it.  A  finger,  was  it  ?  or  a  por- 
tion of  one.  Perhaps  torn  from  some  poor  helpless 
one  in  the  same  way.  And  to  such  aids  and  helps 
must  a  human  heart  come  in  dying ! 

She  had  not  been  quick  enough  to  master  herself. 
Oh !  that  was  wrong  —  very  wrong.  But  had  it  de- 
served a  stroke  so  cruel  —  so  unjust  ? 

Oh  !  miserable,  miserable  religion  !  Her  wild  nature 
rose  against  it  —  accused  —  denounced  it. 


300  EELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

That  night  Augustina  was  marvellously  well.  She 
lay  with  the  relic  case  beside  her  in  a  constant  happi- 
ness. 

"  Oh,  Laura !  Laura,  dear  !  —  even  you  must  see 
what  it  has  done  for  me !  " 

So  she  whispered,  when  Sister  Rosa  had  withdrawn 
into  the  next  room  and  she  and  Laura  were  left  to- 
gether. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  said  the  girl  gently,  "  so  very  glad." 

"  You  are  so  dreadfully  pale,  Laura  !  " 

Laura  said  nothing.  She  raised  the  poor  hand  she 
held,  and  laid  it  softly  against  her  cheek.  Augustina 
looked  at  her  wistfully.  Gradually  her  resolution 
rose. 

"  Laura,  I  must  say  it  —  God  tells  me  to  say  it ! " 

"  What !  dear  Augustina  ?  " 

"  Laura  —  you  could  save  Alan  !  — you  could  alter 
his  whole  life.     And  you  are  breaking  his  heart !  " 

Laura  stared  at  her,  letting  the  hand  slowly  drop 
upon  the  bed.  What  was  happening  in  this  strange, 
strange  world  ? 

"  Laura,  come  here  !  —  I  can't  bear  it.  He  suffers 
so  !  You  don't  see  it,  but  I  do.  He  has  the  look  of 
ray  father  when  my  mother  died.  I  know  that  he 
will  go  to  the  Jesuits.  They  will  quiet  him,  and  pray 
for  him  —  and  prayer  saves  you.  But  you,  Laura  — 
you  might  save  him  another  way  —  oh  !  I  must  call  it 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  301 

a  happier  way."  She  looked  up  piteously  to  the 
crucifix  that  hung  on  the  wall  opposite.  "You 
thought  me  unkind  when  you  were  engaged  —  I  know 
you  did.  I  didn't  know  what  to  think  —  I  was  so 
upset  by  it  all.  But,  oh  !  how  I  have  prayed  since  I 
came  back  that  he  might  marry,  and  have  children,  — 
and  a  little  happiness.  He  is  not  forty  yet  —  and  he 
has  had  a  hard  life.  How  he  will  be  missed  here, 
too  !  Who  can  ever  take  his  place  ?  Why,  he  has 
made  it  all !  And  he  loves  his  work.  Of  course  I 
see  that —  now  —  he  thinks  it  a  sin  —  what  happened 
last  year  —  your  engagement.  But  all  the  same,  he 
can't  tear  his  heart  away  from  you.  I  can't  under- 
stand it.  It  seems  to  me  almost  terrible  —  to  love  as 
he  loves  you." 

"  Dear  Augustina,  don't  —  don't  say  such  things." 
The  girl  fell  on  her  knees  beside  her  ste^jmother. 
Her  pride  was  broken ;  her  face  convulsed.  "  Why, 
you  don't  know,  dear  !  He  has  lost  all  love  for  me. 
He  says  hard  things  to  me  even.  He  judges  me  like 
—  like  a  stranger."  She  looked  at  Augustina  implor- 
ingly through  her  tears. 

"  Did  he  scold  you  just  now  about  the  relic  ?  But 
it  was  because  it  was  you.  Nobody  else  could  have 
made  him  angry  about  such  a  thing.  AVhy,  he  would 
have  just  laughed  and  pitied  them  !  —  you  know  he 
would.     But  you  —  oh,  Laura,  you  torture  him!" 


302  llELBEL'K   OF  BANNllSBALE 

Laura  hid  her  face,  shaking  with  thi'  sobs  she  tried 
tu  coutroL  Pier  heart  melted  within  lier.  She 
thought  of  that  nuirked  book  u|i(tn  liis  table. 

"And  Laura,"  said  the  sighing  thread  of  a  voice, 
"  how  can  you  be  wiser  than  fill  the  Church  ?  —  all 
these  generations  ?  Just  think,  dear !  —  you  against 
the  Saints  and  the  Fathers,  and  the  holy  martyrs  and 
confessors,  from  our  Lord's  time  till  now  !  Oh  !  your 
poor  father.  I  know.  But  he  never  came  near  the 
faith,  Laura  —  how  could  he  judge  ?  It  was  not 
offered  to  him.  That  was  my  wicked  fault.  If  I  had 
been  faithful  I  might  have  gained  my  husband.  But 
Laura  "  —  the  voice  grew  so  eager  and  sharj)  —  "  we 
judge  no  one.  We  must  believe  for  ourselves  the 
Church  is  the  only  way.  But  God  is  so  merciful ! 
But  you  —  it  is  offered  to  you,  Laura.  And  Alan's 
love  with  it.  Just  so  little  on  your  part  —  the  Church 
is  so  tender,  so  indulgent !  She  does  not  expect  a 
perfect  faith  all  at  once.  One  must  just  make  the 
step  blindly  —  obey  —  throw  oneself  into  her  arins. 
Father  Leadham  said  so  to  me  one  day  — not  minding 
Avhat  one  thinks  and  believes  —  not  looking  at  oneself 
—  just  obeying  —  and  it  will  all  come  !  " 

But  Laura  could  not  speak.  Little  Augustina,  full 
of  a  pleading,  an  apostolic  strength,  looked  at  her 
tenderly. 

"  He  hardly  sleeps,  Laura.     As  I  lie  awake,  I  hear 


HELBECK   OF  llANNISDALE  303 

liiiu  moving  about  at  all  hours.  I  said  to  Father 
Leadham  the  other  day  —  '  his  heart  is  broken. 
When  you  take  hiui,  he  will  be  able  to  do  what  you 
tell  him,  perhaps.  But  —  for  this  world  —  it  will  be 
like  a  dead  man.'  And  Father  Leadham  did  not 
deny  it.     He  knoivs  it  is  true." 

And  thus,  so  long  as  her  poor  strength  lasted, 
Augustina  lay  and  whispered  —  reporting  all  the 
piteous  history  of  those  winter  months  —  things  that 
Laura  had  never  heard  and  never  dreamed  —  a  tale  of 
grief  so  profound  and  touching  that,  by  the  time  it 
ended,  every  landmark  was  uprooted  in  the  girl's 
soul,  and  she  was  drifting  on  a  vast  tide  of  pity  and 
passion,  whither  she  knew  not. 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  next  clay  there  was  no  outing  for  Augustina. 
The  south-west  wind  was  again  let  loose  upon  the 
valley  and  the  moss,  with  violent  rain  from  the  sea. 
In  the  grass  the  daffodils  lay  all  faded  and  bi-own. 
But  the  bluebells  were  marching  fast  over  the  copses 
—  as  though  they  sprang  in  the  traces  of  the  rain. 

Laura  sat  working  beside  Augustina,  or  reading  to 
her,  from  morning  till  dark.  Mr.  Helbeck  had  gone 
into  Whinthorpe  as  usual  before  breakfast,  and  was 
not  expected  home  till  the  evening.  Mrs.  Fountain 
was  perhaps  more  restless  and  oppressed  than  she 
had  been  the  day  before.  But  she  would  hardly 
admit  it.  She  lay  with  the  relic  beside  her,  and 
took  the  most  hopeful  view  possible  of  all  her 
symptoms. 

Miss  Fountain  herself  that  day  was  in  singular 
beauty.  The  dark  circles  round  her  eyes  did  but 
increase  their  brilliance ;  the  hot  fire  in  Augustina's 
rooms  made  her  cheeks  glow;  and  the  bright  blue 
cotton  of  her  dress  had  been  specially  chosen  by 
Molly  Friedland  to  set  off  the  gold  of  her  hair. 

304 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  305 

She  was  gay  too,  to  Augustina's  astonisliment. 
She  tohl  stories  of  Daffady  and  the  farm ;  she  gos- 
siped with  Sister  E,osa;  she  alternately  teased  and 
coaxed  Fricka.  Sister  Eosa  had  been  a  little  cool  to 
her  at  first  after  the  affair  of  the  relic.  But  Miss 
Fountain  was  so  charming  this  afternoon,  so  sweet 
to  her  stepmother,  so  amiable  to  other  people,  that 
the  little  nurse  could  not  resist  her. 

And  at  regular  intervals  she  would  walk  to  the 
window,  and  report  to  Augustina  the  steady  rising 
of  the  river. 

"  It  has  flooded  alt  that  flat  bank  opposite  the  first 
seat  —  and  of  that  cattle-rail,  that  bar  —  what  do  j'-ou 
call  it?  —  just  at  the  bend  —  you  can  only  see  the 
very  top  line.  And  such  a  current  under  the  otter 
cliff!     It's  splendid,  Augustina!  —  it's  magnificent!" 

And  she  would  turn  her  flushed  face  to  her  step- 
mother in  a  kind  of  triumph. 

<'  It  will  wash  away  the  wooden  bridge  if  it  goes 
on,"  said  Augustina  plaintively,  "  and  destroy  all  the 
flowers." 

But  Laura  seemed  to  exult  in  it.  If  it  had  not 
been  for  the  curb  of  Mrs.  Fountain's  weakness  she 
could  not  have  kept  still  at  all  as  the  evening  drew 
on,  and  the  roar  of  the  water  became  continuously 
audible  even  in  this  high  room.  And  yet  every 
now  and  then  it  might  })evhaps  have  been   thought 

VOL.    TI.  —  X 


30 G  HELBiUCE  OF  BANNISDALE 

that  she  was   troubled  or  annoyed  by  the   sound  — 
that  it  prevented  her  from  hearing  something  else. 

Mrs.  Fountain  did  not  know  how  to  read  her. 
Once,  when  they  were  alone,  she  tried  to  reopen 
the  subject  of  the  night  before.  But  Laura  would 
not  even  allow  it  to  be  approached.  To-day  she  had 
the  lightest,  softest  ways  of  resistance.  But  they 
were  enough. 

Mrs.  Fountain  could  only  sigh  and  yield. 
Towards   seven   o'clock  she  began  to  fidget   about 
her  brother.     "  He  certainly  meant  to  be  home  for 
dinner,"    she    said    several    times,    with    increasing 
peevishness. 

"  I  am  going  to  have  dinner  here ! "  said  Laura, 
smiling. 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Augustina,  astonished. 
"  Oh !  let  me,  dear.      Mr.  Helbeck   is   sure   to  be 
late.     And  Sister  Rosa  will  look  after  him.     Teach- 
ing Fricka  has  made  me  as  hungry  as  that !  "  — -  and 
she  opened  her  hands  wide,  as  a  child  measures. 

Augustina  looked  at  her  sadly,  but  said  nothing. 
She  remembered  that  the  night  before,  too,  Laura, 
would  not  go  downstairs. 

The  little  meal  went  gayly.  Just  as  it  was  over, 
and  while  Laura  was  still  chattering  to  her  step- 
mother as  she  had  not  chattered  for  months,  a  step 
was  heard  in  the  passage. 


BELBECK  OF  BANNISLALE  307 

"  Ah !    there  is  Alan  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Fountain. 

The  Squire  came  in  tired  and  mud-stained.  Even 
his  hair  shone  with  rain,  and  his  clothes  were  wet 
through. 

"  I  must  not  come  too  near  you,"  he  said,  standing 
beside  the  door. 

Mrs.  Fountain  bade  him  dress,  get  some  dinner, 
and  come  back  to  her.  As  slie  spoke,  she  saw  him 
peering  through  the  shadows  of  tlie  room.  She  too 
looked  round.     Laura  was  gone. 

"At  the  first  sound  of  his  step!"  thought  Augus- 
tina.  And  she  wept  a  little,  but  so  secretly  that  even 
Sister  Eosa  did  not  discover  it.  Her  ambition  —  her 
poor  ambition  —  was  for  herself  alone.  What  chance 
had  it  ?  —  alas !  Never  since  Stephen's  death  surely 
had  Augustina'  seen  Laura  shed  such  tears  as  she  had 
shed  the  night  before.  But  no  words,  no  promises  — 
nothing !     And  where,  now,  was  any  sign  of  it  ? 

She  drew  out  her  beads  for  comfort.  And  so,  sigh- 
ing and  praying,  she  fell  asleep. 

After  supper  Helbeck  was  in  the  hall  smoking. 
He  was  half  abashed  that  he  should  find  so  much 
comfort  in  his  pipe,  and  that  he  should  dread  so  much 
the  prospect  of  giving  it  up. 

His  thoughts,  however,  were  black  enough  —  black 
as  the  windy  darkness  outside. 


308  IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

A  step  on  the  staii'S  —  at  Avliich  his  breath  leapt. 
Miss  Foiintaiu,  in  her  white  evening  dress,  was 
descending. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you,  Mr.  Helbeck  ?  " 

He  flung  down  his  pipe  and  approached  her.  She 
stood  a  little  above  him  on  one  of  the  lower  steps ; 
and  instantly  he  felt  that  she  came  in  gentleness. 

An  agitation  he  could  barely  control  took  posses- 
sion of  him.  All  day  long  he  had  been  scourging 
himself  for  the  incident  of  the  night  before.  They 
had  not  met  since.  He  looked  at  her  now  humbly 
—  with  a  deep  sadness  —  and  waited  for  what  she 
had  to  say. 

"  Shall  we  go  into  the  drawing-room  ?  Is  there  a 
light  ?  » 

"We  will  take  one." 

He  lifted  a  lamp,  and  she  led  the  Avay.  Without 
another  word,  she  opened  the  door  into  the  deserted 
room.  Nobody  had  entered  it  since  the  orphanage 
function,  Avhen  some  extra  service  had  been  hastily 
brought  in  to  make  the  house  habitable.  The  mass 
of  the  furniture  was  gathered  into  the  centre  of  the 
carpet,  Avith  a  fcAV  tattered  sheets  flung  across  it. 
The  gap  made  by  the  lost  Romney  spoke  from  the 
wall,  and  the  windows  stood  uncurtained  to  the  night. 

Laura,  however,  found  a  chair  and  sank  into  it. 
He  put  doAvn  the  lamp,  and   stood  expectant. 


IIELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  309 

They  were  almost  in  tlieir  old  positions.  How  to 
find  strengtli  and  voice !  That  room  breathed  mem- 
ories. 

When  she  did  speak,  however,  her  intonation  was 
peculiarly  firm  and  clear. 

''  You  gave  me  a  rebuke  last  night,  Mr.  Helbeck  — 
and  I  deserved  it !  " 

He  made  a  sudden  movement  —  a  movement  which 
seemed  to  trouble  her. 

''  iSTo !  —  don't !  "  —  she  raised  her  hand  involun- 
tarily — ''  don't  please  say  anything  to  make  it  easier 
for  me.  I  gave  you  great  pain.  You  were  right  — 
oh  !  quite  right  —  to  express  it.     But  you  know " 

She  broke  off  suddenly. 

"  You  know,  I  can't  talk  —  if  you  stand  there  like 
that!  Won't  you  come  here,  and  sit  down"  —  she 
pointed  to  a  chair  near  her  —  "  as  if  we  were  friends 
still  ?  We  can  be  friends,  can't  we  ?  We  ought  to  be 
for  Augustina's  sake.  And  I  very  much  want  to  dis- 
cuss with  you  —  seriously  —  what  I  have  to  say." 

He  obeyed  her.  He  came  to  sit  beside  her,  recover- 
ing his  composure  —  bending  forward  that  he  might 
give  her  his  best  attention. 

She  paused  a  moment  —  knitting  her  brows. 

"I  thought  afterwards,  a  long  time,  of  what  had 
happened.  I  talked,  too,  to  Augustina.  She  was 
much   distressed  —  she  appealed  to  me.     And  I  saw 


310  UELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

a  great  deal  of  force  in  what  she  said.  She  pointed 
out  that  it  was  absurd  for  me  to  judge  before  I  knew; 
that  I  never  —  never  —  had  been  willing  to  know  ; 
that  everything  —  even  the  Catholic  Church" — she 
smiled  faintly  —  "takes  some  learning.  She  pleaded 
with  me  —  and  what  she  said  touched  me  very  nnich. 
I  do  not  know  how  long  I  may  have  to  stay  in  your 
house  —  and  with  her.  I  would  not  willingly  cause 
you  pain.  I  would  gladly  understand,  at  least,  more 
than  I  do  —  I  should  like  to  learn  —  to  be  instructed. 
Would  —  would  Father  Leadham,  do  you  think,  take 
the  trouble  to  correspond  with  me  —  to  point  me  out 
the  books,  for  instance,  that  I  might  read  ?  " 

Helbeck's  black  eyes  fastened  themselves  upon  her. 

"  You  —  you  would  like  to  correspond  with  Father 
Leadham  ?  "  he  repeated,  in  stupefaction. 

She  nodded.  Involuntarily  she  began  a  little  angry 
beating  with  her  foot  that  he  knew  well.  It  was 
always  the  protest  of  her  pride,  when  she  could  not 
prevent  the  tears  from  showing  themselves. 

He  controlled  himself.  He  turned  his  chair  so  as 
to  come  within  an  easy  talking  distance. 

"  Will  you  pardon  me,"  he  said  quietly,  "  if  I  ask 
for  more  information?  Did  you  only  determine  on 
this  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

He  hesitated. 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  311 

"  It  is  a  serious  step,  Miss  Fountain !  You  should 
not  take  it  only  from  pity  for  Augustina  —  only  from 
a  wish  to  give  her  comfort  in  dying  ! " 

She  turned  away  her  face  a  little.  That  penetrat- 
ing look  pierced  too  deeply.  "Are  there  not  many 
motives  ?  "  she  said,  rather  hoarsely  —  "  many  ways  ? 
I  want  to  give  Augustina  a  happiness  —  and  —  and  to 
satisfy  many  questions  of  my  own.  Father  Leadham 
is  bound  to  teach,  is  he  not,  as  a  priest  ?  He  could 
lose  nothing  by  it." 

"  Certainly  he  is  bound,"  said  Helbeck. 

He  dropped  his  head,  and  stared  at  the  carpet, 
thinking. 

"  He  would  recommend  yon  some  books,  of  course." 

The  same  remembrance  flew  through  both.  Ab- 
sently and  involuntarily,  Helbeck  shook  his  head, 
with  a  sad  lifting  of  the  eyebrows.  The  colour  rushed 
into  Laura's  cheeks. 

"  It  must  be  something  very  simple,"  she  said  hur- 
riedly. "  Not  '  Lives  of  the  Saints,'  I  think,  and 
not  'Catechisms'  or  'Outlines.'  Just  a  building 
up  from  the  beginning  by  somebody  —  who  found 
it  hard,  venj  hard,  to  believe  —  and  yet  did  believe. 
But  Father  Leadham  will  know  —  of  course  he  would 
know." 

Helbeck  was  silent.  It  suddenly  appeared  to  him 
the  strangest,  the  most  incredible  conversation.     He 


312  UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

felt  the  rise  of  a  mad  emotion  —  the  beating  in  his 
breast  choked  him. 

Laura  rose,  and  he  heard  her  say  in  low  and  waver- 
ing tones : 

"  Then  I  will  write  to  him  to-morrow  —  if  you  think 
I  may." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  as  she  passed  him  the 
fountains  of  his  being  broke  up.  With  a  wild  gesture 
he  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Laura ! " 

It  was  not  the  cry  of  his  first  love  for  her.  It  was 
a  cry  under  which  slie  shuddered.  But  she  submitted 
at  once.  Nay,  with  a  womanly  tenderness  —  how  un- 
like that  old  shrinking  Laura  —  she  threw  her  arm 
round  his  neck,  she  buried  her  little  head  in  his 
breast. 

"  Oh,  how  long  you  were  in  understanding ! "  she 
said  with  a  deep  sigh.     "  How  long ! " 

"  Laura !  —  wliat  does  it  mean  ?  —  my  head  turns !  " 

"It  means  —  it  means  —  that  you  shall  never  — 
never  again  speak  to  me  as  you  did  yesterday;  that 
either  you  must  love  me  or  —  well,  I  must  just  die  !  " 
she  gave  a  little  sharp  sobbing  laugh.  ''I  have  tried 
other  things  —  and  they  can't  —  they  can't  be  borne. 
And  if  you  can't  love  me  iinless  I  am  a  Catholic  — 
now,  I  know  you  wouldn't  —  I  must  just  he  a  Catholic 
—  if  any  power  in  the  world  can  make  me  one.     Why, 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  313 

Father  Leaclham  can  persuade  me  —  he  must !  "  She 
drew  away  from  him,  hokiiug  him,  almost  fiercely,  by 
her  two  small  hands.  ''  I  am  nothing  but  an  ignorant, 
foolish  girl.  And  he  has  persuaded  so  many  wise 
people  —  you  have  often  told  me.  Oh,  he  must  —  he 
must  persuade  me !  " 

She  hid  herself  again  on  his  breast.  Then  she 
looked  up,  feeling  the  tears  on  his  cheek. 

"  But  you'll  be  very,  very  patient  Avith  me  —  won't 
you  ?  Oh !  I'm  so  dead  to  all  those  things !  But  if 
I  say  Avhatever  you  want  me  to  say  —  if  I  do  what  is 
required  of  me  —  you  won't  ask  me  too  many  ques- 
tions—  you  won't  press  me  too  hard?  You'll  trust 
to  my  being  yours  —  to  my  growing  into  your  heart  ? 
Oh  !  how  did  I  ever  bear  the  agony  of  tearing  myself 
away ! " 

It  was  an  ecstasy  —  a  triumph.  But  it  seemed  to 
him  afterwards  in  looking  back  upon  it,  that  all 
through  it  was  also  an  anguish !  The  revelation  of 
the  woman's  nature,  of  all  that  had  lived  and  burned 
in  it  since  he  last  held  her  in  his  arms,  brought  with 
it  for  both  of  them  such  sharp  pains  of  expansion, 
such  an  agony  of  experience  and  growth. 

Very  soon,  however,  she  grew  calmer.  She  tried  to 
tell  him  what  had  happened  to  her  since  that  black 
October   day.     But   conversation  was   not   altogether 


314  IIELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

easy.  She  had  to  rush  over  many  an  hour  and  many 
a  thought  —  dreading  to  remember.  And  again  and 
again  he  coukl  not  rid  himself  of  the  image  of  the 
old  Laura,  or  could  not  fathom  the  new.  It  was  like 
stepping  from  the  firmer  ground  of  the  moss  on  to  the 
softer  patches  where  foot  and  head  lost  themselves. 
He  could  see  her  as  shs  had  been,  or  as  he  had  be- 
lieved her  to  be,  up  to  twenty-foar  hours  before  —  the 
little  enemy  and  alien  in  the  house;  or  as  she  had 
lived  beside  him  those  four  months  —  troubled,  petu- 
lant, exacting.  But  this  radiant,  tender  Laura  —  with 
this  touch  of  feverish  extravagance  in  her  love  and 
her  humiliation  —  she  bewildered  him ;  or  rather  she 
roused  a  new  response;  he  must  learn  new  ways  of 
loving  her. 

Once,  as  he  was   holding  her  hand,  she  looked  at 
him  timidly. 

"  You  would  have  left  Bannisdale,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 
He  quickly  replied  that  he  had  been  in  correspond- 
ence with  his  old  Jesuit  friends.  But  he  would  not 
dwell  upon  it.  There  was  a  kind  of  shame  in  the  sub- 
ject, that  he  would  not  have  had  her  penetrate.  A 
devout  Catholic  does  not  dwell  for  months  on  the 
prospects  and  secrets  of  the  religious  life  to  put  them 
easily  and  in  a  moment  out  of  his  hand  —  even  at 
the  call  of  the  purest  and  most  legitimate  passion. 
From  the  Counsels,  the  soul  returns  to  the  Precepts. 


HELBECE  OF  BANNISDALE  315 

The  highei',  supremer  test  is  denied  it.  There  is 
humbling  in  that  —  a  bitter  taste,  not  to  be  escaped. 

Perhaps  she  did  penetrate  it.  She  asked  him  hur- 
riedly if  he  regretted  anything.  She  could  so  easily 
go  away  again — for  ever.  "  I  conld  do  it  —  I  could  do 
it  now!"  she  said  firmly.  "  Since  yon  kissed  me. 
Yon  could  always  be  my  friend." 

He  smiled,  and  raised  her  hands  to  his  lips. 
"  Where  thon  livest,  dear,  I  will  live,  and  where " 

She  withdrew  a  hand,  and  quickly  laid  it  on  his 
month. 

a  ]Sl"o  —  not  to-night !  We  have  been  so  full  of  death 
all  these  weeks  !     Oh !  how  I  want  to  tell  Augustina  ! " 

But  she  did  not  move.  She  could  not  tear  herself 
from  this  comfortless  room  —  this  strange  circle  of 
melancholy  light  in  which  they  sat — this  beating  of 
the  rain  in  their  ears  as  it  dashed  against  the  old  and 
fragile  casements. 

"  Oh !  my  dear,"  he  said  suddenly  as  he  watched 
her,  "  I  have  grown  so  old  and  cross.  And  so  poor  ! 
It  has  taken  far  more  than  the  picture  "  —  he  pointed 
to  the  vacant  space  —  "to  carry  me  through  this  six 
months.  My  schemes  have  been  growing —  wdiat  mo- 
tive had  1  for  holding  my  hand  ?  My  friends  have 
often  remonstrated  —  the  Jesuits  especially.  But 
at  last  I  have  had  my  way.  I  have  far  —  far  less  to 
offer  you  than  I  had  before." 


316  UELBECE  OF  BANNISDALE 

He  looked  at  her  in  a  sad  apology. 

"  I  have  a  little  money,  "  she  said  shyly.  "  I  don't 
believe  you  ever  knew  it  before." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  he  said  in  astonishment. 

"  Just  a  tiny  bit.  I  shall  pay  my  way  "  —  and  she 
laughed  happily.  "  Alan  !  —  have  you  noticed  —  how 
well  I  have  been  getting  on  with  the  Sisters  ?  —  what 
friends  Eather  Leadham  and  I  made  ?  But  no !  — you 
didn't  notice  anything.  You  saw  me  all  en  noir  — 
aZZ,"  she  repeated  with  a  mournful  change  of  voice. 

Then  her  eyelids  fell,  and  she  shivered. 

"  Oh  !  how  you  hurt  —  how  you  hurt !  —  last  night." 

He  passionately  soothed  her,  denouncing  himself, 
asking  her  pardon.  She  gave  a  long  sigh.  She  had 
a  strange  sense  of  having  climbed  a  long  stair  out  of 
an  abyss  of  misery.     Now  she  was  just  at  the   top 

—  just  within  light  and  welcome.  But  the  dark  Avas 
so  close  behind  —  one  touch !  and  she  was  thrust 
down  to  it  again. 

"I  have  only  hated  two  people  this  last  six 
months,"  she  said  at  last,  (X  propos,  apparently,  of 
nothing.     "  Your  cousin,  who  was  to  have  Bannisdale 

—  and  —  and  —  Mr.  Williams.  I  saw  him  at  Cam- 
bridge." 

There  was  a  pause  ;  then  Helbeck  said,  with  an 
agitation  that  she  felt  beneath  her  cheek  as  her  little 
hea'd  rested  on  his  shoulder : 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  317 

•'  You  saw  Edward  AVilliams  ?  How  did  lie  dare  to 
present  himself  to  yon  ?  " 

He  gentl}^  withdrew  himself  from  her,  and  went 
to  stand  before  the  hearth,  drawn  np  to  his  fnll  stern 
height.  His  dark  head  and  striking  pale  features 
were  fitly  seen  against  the  background  of  the  old 
wall.  As  he  stood  there  he  was  the  embodiment  of 
his  race,  of  its  history,  its  fanaticisms,  its  "  great 
refusals  "  at  once  of  all  mean  joys  and  all  new  free- 
doms. To  a  few  chosen  notes  in  the  universe,  tender 
response  and  exquisite  vibration  —  to  all  others,  deaf, 
hard,  insensitive,  as  the  stone  of  his  old  house. 

Laui'a  looked  at  him  with  a  mingled  adoration  and 
terror.  Then  she  hastily  explained  how  and  where 
she  had  met  Williams. 

"  And  you  felt  no  sympathy  for  him  ?  "  said  Hel- 
beck,  wondering. 

She  flushed. 

"  I  knew  what  it  must  have  been  to  you.  And 
■ — ^and  —  he  showed  no  sense  of  it." 

Her  tone  was  so  simple,  so  poignant,  that,  Hel- 
beck  smiled  only  that  he  might  not  weep.  Hurriedly 
coming  to  her  he  kissed  her  soft  hair. 

"  There  were  temptations  of  his  youth,"  he  said 
with  difficulty,  ''from  which  the  Faith  rescued  him. 
XoAV  these  same  temptations  have  torn  him  from 
the  Faith.     It  has  been  all  known  to  me  from  first 


318  llELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

to  last.  I  see  no  hope.  Let  us  uever  speak  of 
him    again." 

"No,"  she  said  trembling. 

He  drew  a  long  breath.  Suddenly  he  knelt 
beside  her. 

"  And  you  ! "  he  said  in  a  low  voice  — "  you  ! 
Wluit  love  —  what  sweetness  —  shall  be  enough  for 
you !  ( )h !  my  Laura,  when  I  think  of  what  you 
have  done  to-night  —  of  all  that  it  means,  all  that 
it  promises  —  I  humble  myself  before  you.  I  envy 
and  bless  you.  Yours  has  been  no  light  struggle  — 
no  small  sacrifice.  I  can  only  marvel  at  it.  Dear, 
the  Church  Avill  draw  you  so  softly — teach  you  so 
tenderly !  You  have  never  known  a  mother.  Our 
Lady  will  be  your  Mother.  You  have  had  few 
friends  —  they  will  be  given  to  you  in  all  times 
and  countries  —  and  this  will  you  are  surrendering 
will  come  back  to  you  strengthened  a  thousand-fold 
for  my  support  —  and  your  own." 

He  looked  at  her  with  emotion.  Oh!  how  pale 
she  had  grown  under  these  words  of  benediction. 
There  was  a  moment's  silence  —  then  she  rose 
feebly. 

''Now  —  let  me  go!  To-morrow — will  you  tell 
Augustina?  Or  to-night,  if  she  were  awake,  and 
strong  enough  ?     How  can  one  be  sure ?  " 

"  Let  us  come  and  see." 


BELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  319 

He  took  her  liaud,  and  they  moved  a  few  steps 
acji'oss  the  room,  when  they  were  startled  by  the 
thuuder  of  the  storm  iipou  the  windows.  They 
stopped  involuntarily.     Laura's  face  lit  up. 

"  How  the  river  roars  !  I  love  it  so.  Yesterday  I 
was  on  the  top  of  the  otter  cliff  when  it  was  coming 
down  in  a  torrent!     To-morrow  it  will  be  superb." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  go  there  till  I  have  had 
some  fencing  done,"  said  Helbeck  with  decision. 
"The  rain  has  loosened  the  moss  and  made  it  all 
slippery  and  unsafe.  I  saw  some  people  gathering 
primroses  there  to-day,  and  I  told  Murphy  to  warn 
them  off.     We  must  put  a  railing " 

Laura  turned  her  face  to  the  hall. 

"  What  was  that  ? "  she  said,  catching  his  arm. 

A  sudden  cry  —  loud  and  piercing  —  from  the 
stairs. 

"  ]Mr.  Helbeck  —  Miss  Fountain  ! " 

They  rushed  into  the  hall.  Sister  Eosa  ran 
towards  them. 

"  Oh !  Mr.  Helbeck  —  come  at  once  —  Mrs.  Foun- 
tain  " 

Augustina  still  sat  propped  in  her  large  chair  by 
the  fire. 

But  a  nurse  looked  up  with  a  scared  face  as  they 
entered. 


320  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

"Oh  come  —  come  —  Mr.  Helbeck  !  She  is  just 
going." 

Laui'a  threw  herself  on  her  knees  beside  her  step- 
mother.    Helbeck  gave  one  look  at  his  sister,  then    \ 
also   kneeling   he   took   her  cold  and  helpless  hand, 
and  said  in  a  steady  voice  — 

"Receive  thy  servant,  0  Lord,  into  the  place  of 
salvation,  which  she  hopes  from  Thy  mercy." 

The  two  nurses,  sobbing,  said  the   "Amen." 

"  Deliver,  0  Lord,  the  soul  of  Thy  servant  from 
all  the  perils  of  hell,  from  pains  and  all  tribula- 
tions." 

"Amen." 

Mrs.  Fountain's  head  fell  gently  back  upon  the 
cushions.  The  eyes  withdrew  themselves  in  the 
manner  that  only  death  knows,  the  lids  dropped 
partially. 

"  Augustina  —  dear  Augustina  —  give  me  one 
look ! "  cried  Laura  in  despair.  She  Avrapped  her 
arms  round  her  stepmother  and  laid  her  head  on  the 
poor  wasted  bosom. 

But  Helbeck  possessed  himself  of  one  of  the  girl's 
hands,  and  with  his  OAvn  right  he  made  the  sign  of 
the  Cross  upon  his  sister's  brow. 

"  Depart,  0  Christian  soul,  from  this  world,  in  the 
name  of  God  the  Father  Almighty,  who  created  thee; 
in  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ,  the  son  of  the  living  God, 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  321 

wlio  sult'ered  for  tliee  ;  in  the  name  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
who  has  been  poured  out  upon  thee;  in  the  name  of 
the  angels  and  archangels ;  in  the  name  of  the  thrones 
and  dominations ;  in  the  name  of  the  principalities 
and  powers ;  in  the  name  of  the  cherubim  and  sera- 
phim ;  in  the  name  of  the  patriarchs  and  prophets ; 
in  the  name  of  the  holy  apostles  and  evangelists ;  in 
the  name  of  the  holy  martyrs  and  confessors ;  in  the 
name  of  the  holy  monks  and  hermits ;  in  the  name  of 
the  holy  virgins,  and  of  all  the  saints  of  God ;  let  thy 
place  be  this  day  in  peace,  and  thy  abode  in  the  Holy 
Sion;  through  Christ  our  Lord.     Amen." 

There  was  silence,  broken  only  b}^  Laura's  sobs  and 
the  nurses'  weeping.  Helbeck  alone  was  quite  com- 
posed. He  gazed  at  his  sister,  not  with  grief  —  rather 
with  a  deep,  mysterious  joy.  When  he  rose,  still 
looking  down  upon  Augustina,  he  questioned  the 
nurses  in  low  tones. 

There  had  been  hardly  any  warning.  Suddenly  a 
stifled  cry  —  a  gurgling  in  the  throat  —  a  spasm. 
Sister  Rosa  thought  she  had  distinguished  the  words 
"Jesus! — "  "Alan  — "  but  there  had  been  no 
time  for  any  message,  any  farewell.  The  doctors 
had  once  warned  the  brother  that  it  was  possible, 
though  not  likely,  that  the  illness  would  end  in 
this  way. 

"Father   Bowles   gave  her  Communion  this  morn- 

VOL.  11. Y 


322  HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

iug  ?  "  said  Helbeek,  with  a  grave  exactness,  like  one 
informing  himself  of  all  necessary  things. 

"This  morning  and  yesterday,"  said  Sister  Kosa 
eagerly ;  "  and  dear  Mrs.  Fountain  confessed  on  Satur- 
day." 

Laura  rose  from  her  knees  and  wrung  her  hands. 

"  Oh !  I  can't  bear  it ! "  she  said  to  Helbeek.  ''  If  I 
had  been  there  —  if  we  could  just  have  told  her  !  Oh, 
how  strange  —  how  strange  it  is  !  " 

And  she  looked  wildly .  about  her,  seized  by  an 
emotion,  a  misery,  that  Helbeek  could  not  altogether 
iniderstand.  He  tried  to  soothe  her,  regardless  of  the 
presence  of  the  nurses.  Laura,  too,  did  not  think  of 
them.  But  when  he  put  his  arm  round  her,  she  with- 
drew herself  in  a  restlessness  that  would  not  be  con- 
trolled. 

"  How  strange  —  how  strange ! "  she  repeated,  as 
she  looked  down  on  the  little  blanched  and  stiffening 
face. 

Helbeek  stooped  and  kissed  the  brow  of  the  dead 
woman. 

"  If  I  had  only  loved  her  better !  "  he  said  with 
emotion. 

Laura  stared  at  him.  His  words  brought  back  to 
her  a  rush  of  memories  —  Augustina's  old  fear  of  him 
—  those  twelve  years  in  which  no  member  of  the 
Fountain   household   had  ever  seen  Mrs.   Fountain's 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE  32-j 

brother.  So  long  as  Augustina  had  been  Stephen 
Fountain's  wife,  she  had  been  no  less  dead  for  Hel- 
beck,  her  only  brother,  than  she  was  now. 

The  girl  shuddered.  She  looked  pitifully  at  the 
others. 

"  Please  —  please  —  leave  me  alone  with  her  a 
little  !  She  was  my  father's  wife  —  my  dear  father's 
wife  !  " 

And  again  she  sank  on  her  knees,  hiding  her  face 
against  the  dead.  The  nurses  hesitated,  but  Helbeck 
thought  it  best  to  let  her  have  her  way. 

''  We  will  go  for  half  an  hour,"  he  said,  stooping  to 
her.  Then,  in  a  whisper  that  only  she  could  hear  — 
"My  Laura  —  you  are  mine  now  —  let  me  soon  come 
back  and  comfort  you ! " 

When  they  returned  they  found  Laura  sitting  on  a 
stool  beside  her  stepmother.  One  hand  grasped  that 
of  Augustina,  while  the  other  dropped  listlessly  in. 
front  of  her.  Her  brow  under  its  weight  of  curly 
hair  hung  forward.  The  rest  of  the  little  face 
almost  disappeared  behind  the  fixed  and  sombre 
intensity  of  the  eyes. 

She  took  no  notice  when  they  came  in,  and  it  was 
Helbeck  alone  who  could  rouse  her.  He  persuaded 
her  to  go,  on  a  promise  that  the  nurses  would  soon 
recall  her. 

When  all  was  ready  she  returned.     Augustina  was 


324  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

lying  in  a  white  pomp  of  candles  and  flowers;  the 
picture  of  the  Virgin,  the  statue  of  St.  Joseph,  her 
little  praying  table,  were  all  garlanded  with  light; 
every  trace  of  the  long  physical  struggle  had  been 
removed;  the  great  bed,  with  its  meek,  sleeping  form 
and  its  white  draperies,  rose  solitary  amid  its  lights 
—  an  altar  of  death  in  the  void  of  the  great  panelled 
room. 

Laura  stood  opposite  to  Helbeck,  her  hands  clasped, 
as  white  and  motionless  from  head  to  foot  as  Angus- 
tina  herself.  Once  amid  the  prayers  and  litanies  he 
was  reciting  with  the  Sisters,  he  lifted  his  head  and 
found  that  she  was  looking  at  him  and  not  at  Augus- 
tina.  Her  expression  was  so  forlorn  and  difficult  to 
read,  that  he  felt  a  vague  uneasiness.  But  his  Catholic 
sense  of  the  deep  awe  of  what  he  was  doing  made 
him  try  to  concentrate  himself  upon  it,  and  when  he 
raised  his  eyes  again  Lanra  was  gone. 

At  four  o'clock,  in  the  dawn,  he  went  himself  to 
rest  awhile,  a  little  surprised,  perhaps,  that  Laura 
had  not  come  back  to  share  the  vigils  of  the  night, 
but  thankful,  nevertheless,  that  she  had  been  prudent 
enough  to  spare  herself. 

Some  little  time  before  he  went,  while  it  was  yet 
dark.  Sister  E,osa  had  gone  to  lie  down  for  a  while. 
Her  room  was  just  beyond  Laura's.  As  she  passed 
Miss  Fountain's  door  she  saw  that  there  was  a  light 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  325 

within,  and  for  some  time  after  tlie  tired  nurse  had 
thrown  herself  on  her  bed,  she  was  disturbed  by 
sounds  from  the  next  room.  Miss  Fountain  seemed 
to  be  walking  up  and  down.  Once  oi-  twice  she 
broke  out  into  sobs,  then  again  there  were  periods  of 
quiet,  and  once  a  sharp  sound  that  might  have  been 
made  by  tearing  a  letter.  But  Sister  Kosa  did  not 
listen  long.  It  was  natural  that  Miss  Fountain 
should  sorrow  and  watch,  and  the  nurse's  fatigue 
soon  brought  her  sleep. 

She  had  rejoined  her  companion,  however,  and  Mr 
Helbeck  had  been  in  his  room  about  half  an  hour, 
when  the  door  of  the  death  chamber  opened  softly, 
and  Miss  Fountain  appeared. 

The  morning  light  was  already  full,  though  still 
rosily  clear  and  cold,  and  it  fell  upon  the  strangest 
and  haggardest  figure.  Miss  Fountain  was  in  a  black 
dress,  covered  with  a  long  black  cloak.  Her  dress 
and  cloak  were  bedraggled  with  mud  and  wet.  Her 
hat  and  hair  were  both  in  a  drenched  confusion,  and 
the  wind  had  laid  a  passing  flush,  like  a  mask, 
upon  the  pallor  of  her  face.  In  her  arms  she  held 
some  boughs  of  wild  cherr}^,  and  a  mass  of  white 
clematis,  gathered  from  a  tree  upon  the  house  wall, 
for  which  Augustiua  had  cherished  a  particular 
affection. 

She  paused  just  inside  the  door,  and  looked  at  the 


32o  HELBECK  OF  BANNISBALE 

nurses  uncertainly,  like  one  who  hardly  knew  what 
she  was  doing. 

Sister  Rosa  went  to  her. 

"  They  are  so  wet,"  she  whispered  with  a  troubled 
look,  "  and  I  Avent  to  the  most  sheltered  places.  But 
I  shoiild  like  to  put  them  by  her.  She  loved  the 
cherry  blossom  —  and  this  clematis." 

The  nurse  took  her  into  the  next  room,  and  be- 
tween them  they  dried  and  shook  the  beautiful  tufted 
branches.  As  Laura  was  about  to  take  them  back  to 
the  bed,  Sister  Rosa  asked  if  she  would  not  take  off 
her  wet  cloak. 

"  Oh  no !  "  said  the  girl,  as  though  Avith  a  sudden 
entreaty.  "  No !  I  am  going  out  again.  It  shan't 
touch  anything." 

And  daintily  holding  it  to  one  side,  she  returned 
with  the  flowers  in  a  basket.  She  took  them  out  one 
by  one,  and  laid  them  beside  Augustina,  till  the  bed 
Avas  a  vision  of  spring,  starred  and  wreathed  from 
end  to  end,  save  for  that  waxen  face  and  hands  in  the 
centre. 

"  There  is  no  room  for  more,"  said  the  nurse  gently, 
beside  her. 

Laura  started. 

"  No  —  but " 

She  looked  vaguely  round  the  walls,  saAV  a  pair  of 
old  Delft  vases  still  empty,  and  said  eagerly,  pointing, 


UELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  327 

''I  will  bring  some  for  those.  There  is  a  tree  —  a 
cherry  tree,"  the  nurse  remembered  afterwards  that 
she  had  spoken  wdth  a  remarkable  slowness  and  clear- 
ness, "just  above  the  otter  cliff.  You  don't  know 
where  that  is.     But  Mr.  Helbeck  knows." 

The  nurse  glanced  at  her,  and  wondered.  Miss 
Fountain,  no  doubt,  had  been  dazed  a  little  by  the 
sudden  shock.  She  had  learnt,  however,  not  to  inter- 
fere with  the  first  caprices  of  grief,  and  she  did  not 
try  to  dissuade  the  girl  from  going. 

When  the  flow^ers  were  all  laid,  Laura  went  round 
to  the  further  side  of  the  bed  and  dropped  on  her 
knees.  She  gazed  steadily  at  Augustina  for  a  little ; 
then  she  turned  to  the  faldstool  beside  the  bed  and 
the  shelf  above  it,  with  Augustina's  prayer-books,  and 
on  either  side  of  the  St.  eJoseph,  on  the  wall,  the 
portraits  of  Helbeck  and  his  mother.  The  two  nurses 
moved  away  to  the  window  that  she  might  be  left  a 
little  to  herself.  The}^  had  seen  enough,  naturally,  to 
make  them  divine  a  new  situation,  and  feel  towards 
her  wdth  a  new  interest  and  compassion. 

When  she  rejoined  them,  they  were  alternately  tell- 
ing their  beads  and  looking  at  the  glory  of  the  sunrise 
as  it  came  marching  from  the  distant  fells  over  the 
park.  The  rain  had  ceased,  but  the  trees  and  grass 
were  steeped,  and  the  river  came  down  in  a  white 
flood  under  the  pure  greenish  spaces,  and  long  pearly 
clouds  of  the  morning  sky. 


328  IIELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

Laura  gave  it  all  one  look.  Then  she  drew  her 
cloak  round  her  again. 

"  Dear  Miss  Fountain,"  whispered  Sister  Eosa,  en- 
treating, "  don't  be  long.  And  when  you  come  in,  let 
me  get  you  dry  things,  and  make  you  some  tea." 

The  girl  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said  under  her  breath,  and  she 
gently  kissed  first  Sister  Eosa,  and  then  the  other 
nurse,  Sis*".er  Mary  Eaphael,  who  did  not  know  her  so 
well,  and  was  a  little  surprised  perhaps  to  feel  the 
touch  of  the  cold  small  lips. 

They  watched  her  close  the  door,  and  some  dim 
anxiety  made  them  wait  at  the  window  till  they  saw 
her  emerge  from  the  garden  wall  into  the  park.  She 
was  walking  slowly  with  bent  head.  She  seemed  to 
stand  for  a  minute  or  two  at  the  first  seat  commanding 
the  bend  of  the  river ;  then  the  rough  road  along  the 
Greet  turned  and  descended.     They  saw  her  no  more. 

A  little  before  eight  o'clock,  Helbeck,  coming  out  of 
his  room,  met  Sister  Eosa  in  the  passage.  She  looked 
a  little  disturbed. 

"  Is  Miss  Fountain  there  ?  "  asked  Helbeck  in  the 
voice  natural  to  those  who  keep  house  with  death. 
He  motioned  toward  his  sister's  room. 

"I  have  not  seen  Miss  Fountain  since  she  went 
out  between  four  and  five  o'clock,"  said  the  nurse. 


HELBECK   OF  BANNISBALE  329 

"  She  went  out  for  some  flowers.  As  she  did  not 
come  back  to  us,  we  thought  that  she  w^as  tired 
and  had  gone  straight  to  bed.  But  now  I  have  been 
to  see.     Miss  Fountain  is  not  in  her  room." 

Helbeck  stopped  short. 

"  Not  in  her  room !  And  she  went  out  between 
four  and  five  o'clock  !  " 

"  She  told  us  she  was  going  for  some  flowers  to 
the  otter  cliff/'  said  Sister  Rosa,  with  cheeks  that 
were  rapidly  blanching.  "  I  remember  her  saying 
so  very  plainly.  She  said  you  would  know  where 
it  was." 

He  stared  at  her,  his  face  turning  to  horror.  Then 
he  was  gone. 

Laura  was  not  far  to  seek.  The  tyrant  river  that 
she  loved,  had  received  her,  had  taken  her  life,  and 
then  had  borne  her  on  its  swirl  of  waters  straight 
for  that  little  creek  where,  once  before,  it  had  tossed 
a  human  prey  upon  the  beach. 

There,  beating  against  the  gravelly  bank,  in  a 
soft  helplessness,  her  bright  hair  tangled  among  the 
drift  of  branch  and  leaf  brought  down  by  the  storm, 
Helbeck  found  her. 

He  brought  her  home  upon  his  breast.  Those  who 
had  come  to  search  with  him  followed  at  a  distance. 


330  IlELIiECK    OF  BANNISDALE 

He  carried  lier  Ihroiiyii  the  garden,  and  at  the 
chapel  entrance  nurses  and  tloctor  met  liim.  Long 
and  fruitless  efforts  were  made  before  all  was  yielded 
to  despair;  Imt  the  river  had  done  its  work. 

At  last  Helbeck  said  a  hoarse  word  to  Sister  Rosa. 
She  led  the  others  away. 

.  .  .  In  that  long  agony,  Helbeck's  soul  parted 
for  ever  with  the  first  fresh  power  to  suffer.  Neither 
life  nor  death  could  ever  stab  in  such  wise  a<i;ain. 
The  half  of  personality  —  the  chief  forces  of  that 
Helbeck  whom  Laura  had  loved,  were  already  dead 
with  Laura,  when,  after  many  hours,  his  arms  gave 
her  back  to  the  Sisters,  and  she  dropped  gently  from 
his  hold  upon  her  bed  of  death,  in  a  last  irrevocable 
submission. 

Far  on  in  the  day,  Sister  Rosa  discovered  on 
Laura's  table  a  sealed  letter  addressed  to  Dr.  Fried- 
land  of  Cambridge.  She  brought  it  to  Helbeck.  He 
looked  at  it  blindly,  then  gradually  remembered  the 
name  and  the  facts  connected  with  it.  He  wrote 
and  sent  a  message  to  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Friedland  asking 
them  of  their  kindness  to  come  to  Bannisdale. 

The  Friedlands  arrived  late  at  night.  They  saw 
the  child  to  w^hom  they  had  given  their  hearts  lying 
at  peace  in  the  old  tapestried  room.     Some  of  the 


HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE  331 

flowers  she  had  herself  brought  for  Augustina  had 
been  placed  about  her.  The  nurses  had  exhausted 
themselves  in  the  futile  cares  that  soothe  good  women 
at  such  a  time. 

The  talk  throughout  the  household  was  of  sudden 
and  hopeless  accident.  Miss  Fountain  had  gone  for 
cherry  blossom  to  the  otter  cliff;  the  cliff  was  un- 
safe after  the  rain;  only  twenty-four  hours  before, 
Mr.  Helbeck  had  given  orders  on  the  subject  to 
the  old  keeper.  And  the  traces  of  a  headlong  fall 
just  below  a  certain  flowery  bent  where  a  wild 
cherry  stood  above  a  bank  of  primroses,  were  plainly 
visible. 

Then,  as  the  doctor  and  Mrs.  Friedland  entered 
their  own  room,  Laura's  letter  was  brought  to 
them. 

They  shut  themselves  in  to  read  it,  expecting  one 
of  those  letters,  those  unsuspicious  letters  of  every 
day,  which  sudden  death  leaves  behind  it. 

But  this  Avas  what  they  read : 

"  Dear,  dear  friend,  —  Last  night,  nearly  five  hours 
ago,  I  promised  for  the  second  time  to  marry  Mv. 
Helbeck,  and  I  promised,  too,  that  I  would  be  a 
Catholic.  I  asked  him  to  procure  for  me  Catholic 
teaching  and  instruction.  I  could  not,  you  see,  be 
his  wife  without  it.     His  conscience  now  would  not 


332  UELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE 

allow  it.  And  besides,  last  summer  I  saw  that  it 
could  not  be. 

"...  Tlien  we  were  called  to  Augustina.  It  was 
she  who  finally  persuaded  me.  I  did  not  do  it  merely 
to  please  her.  Oh!  no  —  )io.  I  have  been  on  the 
brink  of  it  for  days  —  perhaps  weeks.  I  have  so 
hungered  to  be  his  again.  .  .  .  But  it  gave  it  sweet- 
ness that  Augustina  wished  it  so  much  —  that  I  could 
tell  her  and  make  lier  happy  before  she  died. 

"  Then,  she  was  dead !  —  all  in  a  moment  —  without 
a  word  —  before  we  came  to  her  almost.  She  had 
prayed  so  —  and  yet  God  would  not  leave  her  a 
moment  in  which  to  hear  it.  That  struck  me  so.  It 
was  so  strange,  after  all  the  pains  • —  all  the  clinging 
to  Him  —  and  entreating.  It  might  have  been  a  sign, 
and  there !  —  she  never  gave  a  thought  to  us.  It 
seemed  like  an  intrusion,  a  disturbance  even  to  touch 
her.  How  horrible  it  is  that  death  is  so  lonely! 
Then  something  was  said  that  reminded  me  of  my 
father.  I  had  forgotten  him  for  so  long.  But  when 
they  left  me  with  her,  I  seemed  to  be  holding  not  her 
hand,  but  his.  I  was  back  in  the  old  life  —  I  heard 
him  speaking  quite  distinctly.  '  Laura,  you  cannot  do 
it  —  you  cannot  do  it ! '  And  he  looked  at  me  in  sor- 
row and  displeasure.  I  argued  with  him  so  long,  but 
he  beat  me  down.  And  the  voice  I  seemed  to  hear 
was   not   his   only,  —  it   was   the   voice   of   my   own 


EELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  333 

life,  only  far  stronger  and  crueller  than  I  liad  ever 
known  it. 

"  Cruel !  —  I  hardly  knoAV  what  I  am  writing  —  who 
has  been  cruel !  I !  —  only  I !  To  open  the  old 
wounds  —  to  make  him  glad  for  an  hour  —  then  to 
strike  and  leave  him  —  could  anything  be  more  piti- 
less ?  Oh  !  my  best  —  best  beloved.  .  .  .  But  to  live 
a  lie  —  iipon  his  heart,  in  his  arms  —  that  would  be 
worse.  T  don't  know  what  drives  me  exactly  —  but 
the  priests  want  iny  inmost  will  —  want  all  that  is  I 

—  and  I  know  when  I  sit  down  to  think  quietly,  that 
I  cannot  give  it.  I  knew  it  last  October.  But  to  be 
with  him,  to  see  him,  was  too  much.  Oh  !  if  God 
hears,  may  He  forgive  me  —  I  prayed  to-night  that 
He  would  give  me  courage. 

"  He  must  always  think  it  an  accident  —  he  will. 
I  see  it  all  so  plainly.  —  But  I  am  afraid  of  saying  or 
doing  something  to  make  the  others  suspect.  —  My 
head  is  not  clear.  I  can't  remember  from  one  moment 
to  another. 

"You  understand  —  I  must  trouble  him  no  more. 
And  there  is  no  other  way.  This  winter  has  proved 
it.     Because  death  puts  an  end. 

''This  letter  is  for  you  three  only,  in  all  the 
world.     Dear,  dear  Molly  —  I  sit  here  like  a  coward 

—  but  I  can't  go  without  a  sign. — You  wouldn't  un- 
derstand me  —  I  used  to  be  so  happy  as  a  little  child 


334  HELBECK  OF  BANNISDALE 

—  but  since  Papa  died  —  since  I  came  here  —  oli !  I 
am  not  angry  now,  not  proud- — no,  no.  —  It  is  for 
love  —  for  love. 

"  Good-bye  —  good-bye.     You  were  all  so   good   to 
me  —  think  of  me,  grieve  for  me  sometimes. — 
"  Your  ever  grateful  and  devoted 

"Laura." 

Next  morning  early,  Helbeck  entered  the  dining- 
room,  where  Dr.  Eriedland  was  sitting.  He  approached 
the  doctor  with  an  uncertain  step,  like  one  finding  his 
way  in  the  dark. 

"  You  had  a  letter,"  he  said.  "  Is  it  possible  that 
you  coidd  show  it  me  —  or  any  part  of  it  ?  Only  a 
few  hours  before  her  death  the  old  relations  between 
myself  —  and  Miss  Fountain  —  were  renewed.  We 
were  to  have  been  husband  and  wife.  That  gives  me 
a  certain  claim." 

Dr.  Friedland  grew  pale. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  said,  rising  to  meet  his  host, 

—  "  that  letter  contained  a  message  for  my  daughter 
which  was  not  intended  for  other  eyes  than  hers.  I 
have  destroyed  it." 

And  then  speech  failed  him.  The  old  man  stood 
in  a  guilty  confusion. 

Helbeck  lifted  his  deep  eyes  with  the  steady  and 
yet  muffled  gaze  of  one  who,  in  the   silence  of  the 


EELBECK   OF  BANNISDALE  335 

heart,    lets    liope    go.     Not    another   word   was    said. 
The  doctor  found  himself  alone. 

Three    days    later,    the    doctor  wrote   to   his   wife, 
who  had  gone  back  to  Cambridge  to  be  with  Molly. 

'-'  Yesterday  Mrs.  Fountain  was  buried  in  the 
Catholic  graveyard  at  Whinthorpe.  To-day  we  car- 
ried Laura  to  a  little  chapel  high  in  the  hills.  A- 
lonely  yet  a  cheerful  spot !  After  these  days  and 
nights  of  horror,  there  was  a  moment  —  a  breath  — 
of  balm.  The  Westmoreland  rocks  and  trees  will 
be  about  her  for  ever.  She  lies  in  sight,  almost, 
of  the  Bannisdale  woods.  Above  her  the  mountain 
rises  to  the  sky.  One  of  those  wonderful  Westmore- 
land dogs  was  barking  and  gathering  tlie  sheep  on 
the  crag-side,  while  we  stood  there.  And  when  it 
was  all  over  I  could  hear  the  river  in  the  valley  — 
a  gay  and  open  stream,  with  little  bends  and  shadows 
—  not  tragic  like  the  Greet. 

"  Many  of  the  country  people  came.  I  saw  her 
cousins,  the  Masons ;  that  young  fellow  —  you  re- 
member ?  —  with  a  face  SAVollen  with  tears.  Mr. 
Helbeck  stood  in  the  distance.  He  did  not  come 
into  the  chapel. 

"  How  she  loved  this  country  !  And  now  it  holds 
her  tenderly.  It  gives  her  its  loveliest  and  best. 
Poor,  poor  child! 


336  HELBECK.OF  BANNISBALE 

"As  for  Mr.  Helbeck,  I  have  hardly  seen  him.  He 
seems  to  live  a  life  all  within.  We  must  be  as  shad- 
ows to  him ;  as  men  like  trees  walking.  But  I  have 
had  a  few  conversations  with  him  on  necessary 
business ;  I  have  observed  his  bearing  under  this 
intolerable  blow.  And  always  I  have  felt  myself  in 
the  presence  of  a  good  and  nol)l(>  man.  In  a  few 
months,  or  even  weeks,  they  say  he  Avill  have  entered 
the  Jesuit  Novitiate.  It  gives  me  a  deep  relief  to 
think  of  it. 

"  What  a  fate !  —  that  brought  them  across  each 
other,  that  has  left  him  nothing  but  these  memories, 
and  led  her,  step  by  step,  to  this  last  bitter  resource 
—  this  awful  spending  of  her  young  life  —  this  blind 
witness  to  august  things !  " 


SIR  GEORGE    IRESSADY. 

BV 

MRS.    HUMPHRY   WARD. 
2  vols.    i6nio.    Cloth,  in  box.    $2.00. 


"  Mrs.  Ward  has  the  quiet  authority  which  means  intellectual 
power.  Behind  what  she  writes  is  one  of  the  few  minds  of 
modern  times  to  which  we  can  looli  for  tenderness  joined  to 
rigid  common  sense."  —  The  Tribune,  New  York. 

"  Taken  all  in  all  for  style,  for  matter,  for  breadth  of  view, 
for  emotional  power,  for  insight  into  individual  human  charac- 
ter, and  no  less  into  those  subtler  social  forces  that  are  changing 
the  world  under  our  very  eyes,  we  must  render  to  Mrs.  Ward's 
latest  work  no  stinted  measure  of  praise."  —  The  Baltimore 
News. 

"Fine  and  serious  work,  intelligent  and  sympathetic  in  spirit 
and  purpose,  stimulating  and  wholesome  in  effect."  —  7 he 
Critic. 

" '  Sir  George  Tressady  '  denotes  the  high-water  mark  of  Mrs. 
Humphry  Ward's  hterary  achievement.  '  David  Grieve,'  which 
previously  represented  the  best  thought  and  richest  art  of  its  au- 
thor, is  distinctly  outranked  by  the  new  masterpiece,  a  fine  and 
serious  work,  intelligent  and  sympathetic  in  spirit  and  purpose, 
stimulating  and  wholesome  in  effect.'"  —  Neiv  Haven  I  eader. 

"In  virtue  or  in  vice,  in  strength  or  weakness,  in  wisdom  or 
in  folly,  everything  in  the  liook  is  alive  and  real;  and  this  is  its 
charm." —  The  Independent. 

"  At  any  estimate,  it  is  a  book  not  to  be  neglected  by  people 
who  wish,  to  know  'the  best  that  is  thought  and  said  in  the 
world  of'fiction.'  "  —  Indianapolis  News. 


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The  Story  of  Bessie  Costrell. 


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"It  is  the  best  work  Mrs.  Ward  has  clone."  —  Philadelphia 
Press. 

"  Mrs.  Ward's  new  story  is  one  of  the  daintiest  Httle  gems  I 
liave  come  across  in  my  weekly  literary  hunts." — Ai.AN  Dale 
in  A''ezv  York  World. 

"The  piece  uf  fiction  under  consideration  is  the  best  short 
story  presented  in  many  years,  if  not  in  a  decade;  presented  so 
thrillingly  and  graphically,  we  cannot  avoid  pronouncing  this 
short  tale  a  masterpiece."  —  Elniira  Telegram. 

"  Every  one  who  did  not  follow  the  story  as  it  came  out  in  the 
magazine  will  be  glad  of  its  appearance  in  book  form,  and  it  will 
find  a  wide  reading,  not  only  for  the  interest  and  originality  of 
the  story,  but  for  the  curiosity  of  seeing  the  author  in  an  entirely 
new  vein.  As  it  stands  completed,  it  bears  the  unmistakable 
mark  of  an  artist's  hands,  in  every  way  a  remarkably  human  and 
life-like  portraiture,  which  will  take  its  place  as  a  small  but  bril- 
liant gem  in  the  distinguished  author's  literary  crown."  —  Boslon 
Courier. 

"  Every  page  shows  it  to  be  the  work  of  an  artist.  The  ob- 
servations of  the  trained  eye,  the  touches  of  the  skilled  writer, 
are  all  there,  and  what  I  like  in  the  story  is,  that  no  words  are 
wasted  in  the  telling.  .  .  .  The  interest  is  too  strong  for  one  to 
lay  the  book  down  until  it  is  finished.  Mrs.  Ward  has  never 
written  anything  more  dramatic  than  this  story;  the  agony  of 
old  John  over  his  loss,  the  tragedy  of  Bessie's  end,  thrill  the 
reader  as  few  stories  succeed  in  doing,  though  many  of  them 
make  greater  efforts." — Nezu  York  World. 


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MARCELLA. 

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"The  task  undertaken  in  producing 
worthy,  in  magnitude  and  in  interest,  of  the  hand  .  .  . 
that  gave  us  '  Robert  Elsmere '  and  traced  the  '  History  of 
David  Grieve.'  .  .  .  The  whole  impression  left  after  read- 
ing '  Marcella '  from  beginning  to  end  is  remarkable  for  the 
number  of  highly  finished  pictures  fixed  in  the  mind  of  the 
reader  —  jjictures  of  which  he  cannot  but  feel  sure  that 
they  are  at  once  true  to  life  and  typical  of  life.  And  those 
two  conditions  are  rarely  satisfied  by  any  pictures  whatso- 
ever, whether  drawn  or  written.  .  .  .  There  are  scenes 
of  cottage  life  in  the  book  which  have  probably  never  been 
outdone  in  clean  accuracy  of  observation  or  in  brilliancy  of 
literary  finish.  ...  It  is  a  sign  of  the  book's  worth  that 
one  is  in  earnest  with  Marcella.  ...  No  man  could  have 
drawn  such  a  character  successfully,  and  few  would  have 
been  bold  enough  to  attempt  it.  No  one  but  Mrs.  Ward 
herself  could  tell  us  whether  she  has  in  this  instance  done 
what  she  meant  to  do.  .  .  .  Whatever  her  own  ideal  may 
have  been,  the  attempt  to  reach  it  has  given  us  a  very  re- 
markable and  complete  piece  of  work,  embodying  a  star- 
tling picture  of  modern  England,  which  we  Americans  must 
accept,  however  reluctantly,  as  true,  but  which  we  shall 
have  no  reluctance  at  all  in  admiring  sincerely  for  its 
breadth,  its  feeling,  and  the  consummate  detail  of  its  exe- 
cution."—  Mr.  F.  Marion  Crawford  in  Book  Reviews. 


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THE  HISTORY  OF  DAVID  GRIEVE 


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"We  have  been  under  the  spell  of  this  book,  and  must 
acknowledge  its  power  as  a  romance.  The  pulse  of  genius 
throbs  in  it  and  the  glamour  of  great  imagination  plays 
over  it." —  77?!?  Independent . 

"  Mrs.  Ward  has  shown  herself  to  be  a  writer  of  incon- 
testable genius.  Her  high  enthusiasm  for  tlie  moral  ele- 
vation of  the  race  has  been  at  one  witJi  the  artistic  impulse 
that  guided  her  pen.  .  .  .  Her  delineation  of  the  develop- 
ment of  David  Grieve's  character  by  many  will  be  thought 
unsurpassed  for  insight  and  delicacy  of  handling  by  any- 
thing in  her  earlier  book,  'Robert  Elsmere.'"  —  Boston 
Times. 

"  She  has,  to  sum  up  many  things  in  a  sentence,  that 
indefinable  and  irresistible  charm  which  the  best  writers 
among  women  have,  and  the  best  writers  among  men  never 
have,  or  almost  never."  —  New  York  Tribune. 

"  It  is  a  book  to  keep  by  one  and  read  in  detached  pas- 
sages, for  its  illumination  on  the  higher  conduct  of  living ; 
and  great  as  it  is  as  a  novel,  its  greatest  usefulness  is  that 
of  a  new  and  diviner  commentary  on  human  life."  —  Bos- 
ton Budget. 

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"  The  strength  of  the  book  seems  to  lie  in  an  extraor- 
dinary wealth  of  diction,  never  separated  from  thought ;  in 
a  close  and  searching  faculty  of  social  observation ;  in 
generous  appreciation  of  what  is  morally  good,  impartially 
exhibited  in  all  directions  ;  above  all,  in  the  sense  of  mis- 
sion with  which  the  writer  is  evidently  possessed,  and  in 
the  earnestness  and  persistency  of  purpose  with  which 
through  every  page  and  line  it  is  pursued.  The  book  is 
eminently  an  offspring  of  the  time,  and  will  probably  make 
a  deep,  or  at  least  a  very  sensible,  impression ;  not,  how- 
ever, among  mere  novel-readers,  but  among  those  who 
share,  in  whatever  sense,  the  deeper  thought  of  the  period." 
—  Mr.  Gladstone  in  the  Nijieteenth  Century. 

"  Comparable  in  sheer  intellectual  power  to  the  best 
works  of  George  Eliot.  .  .  .  Unquestionably  one  of  the 
most  notable  works  of  fiction  that  has  been  produced  for 
years."  —  T/ie  Scotsman. 


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THE  JOURNAL  INTIMEOF  HENRI- 
FREDERIC  AMIEL 

TRANSLATED    WITH   AN    INTRODUCTION    AND   NOTES   BY 

MRS.  HUMPHRY  WARD. 

A  reprint  of  the  second  English  edition,  with  passages  from  the 
enlarged  fifth  French  edition,  and  a  topical  index. 

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"A  minute  and  marvellous,  though  unstudied,  chronicle 
of  mental  impressions,  the  publication  of  which  was  an 
event  in  the  iiistory  of  literature,  and  has  insured  his  name 
an  immortality  that  might  have  escaped  the  most  finished 
conscious  performance  within  the  limit  of  his  powers.  .  .  . 
A  superb  constructive  edifice  of  thought,  exuberant  with 
inspiration  and  animating  impulse  and  suggestiveness, 
seething  with  intense  intellectual  passion  and  illumined 
withal  by  a  sublime  glow  of  love  and  submissive  faith."  — 
Commercial  Advertiser . 

"  A  wealth  of  thought  and  a  power  of  expression  which 
would  make  the  fortune  of  a  dozen  less  able  works."  — 
Churchman . 

"A  work  of  wonderful  beauty,  depth,  and  charm.  .  .  . 
Will  stand  beside  such  confessions  as  St.  Augustine's  and 
Pascal's.  ...  It  is  a  book  to  converse  with  again  and 
again;  fit  to  stand  among  the  choicest  volumes  that  we 
esteem  as  friends  of  our  souls."  —  Christian  Register. 


.  THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY, 

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